


Ever After

by Mysecretfanmoments



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged up characters, F/M, Identity Reveal, futureverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysecretfanmoments/pseuds/Mysecretfanmoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the end of high school, Adrien comes back to Paris during summer break, but it's another recent re-arrival Marinette wants to see more than anything. With Papillon vanquished, what's to keep two superheroes together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some loves

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time writing for Miraculous Ladybug C: I'd like to thank (blame?) the indomitable emicchan for pulling me into this fandom; all complaints to be directed at her, and possibly Qwartooty, who got me to leap from "I'm obsessed with this thing" to "I'm going to write for this thing".
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy!

There were loves you got over, and loves you didn’t; Marinette knew that.

When it became known that Adrien Agreste would be moving to China for university, she was sad. More than sad, she was disappointed, knowing that her rosy feelings and frequent, bumbling attempts to make them known had led to nothing. There had been moments of thinking her feelings were reciprocated, and she’d remember those hopeful moments fondly—but without much pain.

It was a love she’d get over; Adrien’s memory was a pang to her.

Chat’s memory was a full-body ache.

She hadn’t been in love with him, but she’d loved him, and that was worse. When they finally vanquished the Papillon, she thought it was the happiest moment of her life, with her partner at her side, the Eiffel tower behind, Paris triumphant. She was rid of the horrible responsibility of power, rid of nightmares where—for once—her superhero identity wasn’t enough, and no one was there to save her loved ones.

There had been a fist bump, and there had been tears, and laughter, and truly awful puns Chat had probably been coming up with since their partnership began. It was a shining moment, sun glinting off rain-washed Paris roofs around them. Chat had asked to know who she was now that Paris was safe; she had declined to answer. In her was a deep fear that if someone knew who she was, she’d lose her powers. There had to be something that caused the fear in Tikki’s voice when she warned against discovery, hadn’t there? That seemed like the likeliest explanation, and Marinette didn’t want to risk losing Ladybug.

These days, years after the fact, she regretted not taking that risk. With no more akumas to get rid of, the superhero life had shrunk away to nothing. For a while after Papillon’s defeat she continued to meet up with Chat on patrols, but the patrols seemed increasingly unimportant, even if they were still fun, still filled with light-hearted banter. Often they were here favourite time of the week.

Her favourite—until Chat stopped coming. His increasingly urgent requests to know who she was took on a different note in hindsight.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. She still had Tikki, who assured her that lack of arch-nemesi didn’t mean she had to turn her earrings in, and when it was time to move on from high school Alya had picked a university close to Marinette’s school of fashion specifically so they could room together. That part of her life she loved, two years into her degree.

She just had regrets, too; that was all.

“Marinette!” Tikki’s voice was insistent. They were in her parents’ bakery, stationed behind the till in case her parents’ new hired help—a young woman named Jasmyne—needed assistance. Marinette wasn’t supposed to be helping so much as overseeing, and she had a book filled with required reading propped up in her lap. She welcomed Tikki’s distraction from homework, whatever it was.

“What?” she whispered, leaning down conspiratorially. “Think I should ditch the homework? Excellent idea—”

“Not that!” They’d been together long enough that Marinette could hear the excitement in Tikki’s high voice. “Look who just walked in!”

Marinette blinked in surprise, setting the book aside and standing so she could get a look at the shop. Her heart jumped into her throat when she saw him.

“Adrien!” she cried, running past the till. Once upon a time, she would have stood before him twitching, wishing she had the courage to greet him with the enthusiasm she felt; now, she could clasp his shoulders and kiss both his cheeks in greeting like a normal person, though perhaps her excitement seemed a little off-kilter.

He looked stunned but happy—and tall, and beautiful, and flushed, and she should probably stop clutching his shoulders now.

“Marinette!” His smile declared her a welcome sight. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

She grinned, stepping back. “I’m not usually. You have great timing. But—why are you here? How? Aren’t you meant to be in China?”

She felt the weight of Jasmyne’s curiosity like shivers up her back, but she refused to turn around and introduce them. There was a family selecting éclairs at the display; it ought to keep Jasmyne busy. For now, Marinette wanted Adrien to herself.

Not the way she used to. Or—well, it wouldn’t be unwelcome to have him to herself like that, but the sight of him no longer gummed her tongue and jangled her brain—she could _think_ —

“It’s summer break,” he said. “I was on tour all of last summer, but this time I put my foot down.” He seemed a bit nervous about that, and… guilty?

“Was it hard?”

“Well, you know. My father…”

She nodded. Adrien’s father had come down with a mysterious illness during their last year of lycée, something so rare doctors could only guess at its origins. Their whole class had sent Mr Agreste and Adrien cards, but she knew it had been a hard time for him.

“He still tries to control everything,” Adrien said, frowning. “It’s hard to say no to someone who’s ill.”

Yep, there was the guilt again. Marinette would have liked to comfort him; her hands fluttered at her sides. “I’m glad you told him no,” she said, and he looked up gratefully. “Everyone will be so happy to see you.”

He ducked his head, and the silence stretched. That was unusual; Adrien was normally good at carrying an awkward conversation. Then again, that was two years ago, and anything could have changed.

“So!” Marinette said, putting a lot of force behind the word. She gestured at a display case. “What can I get you?”

  

* * *

 

 

Adrien left the bakery with a box full of sweets, some of which she’d managed to press on him as gifts. Jasmyne watched him go with awe.

“He’s that model, isn’t he?”

Marinette nodded proudly. “And my former classmate.”

“I can’t believe you can just talk to him like that. I’d be too scared to say a thing.”

Marinette laughed. “I couldn’t before. Really! For years!”

Jasmyne’s dark eyes widened. “But you were so confident just now!”

“I know!” Marinette laughed again, amazed at herself. She inclined her head. “I guess I’m just happy to see him again.”

Jasmyne made a little worshipful motion, then turned to help customers. Marinette wandered back to her chair, feeling introspective.

“Jasmyne’s right,” Tikki said, drifting out of Marinette’s purse now that they were out of sight again. “You were very brave.”

Marinette shook her head. “I wasn’t. It was just… different.”

“You’re over him,” Tikki said, looking shocked.

“Not _over_ ,” Marinette argued. “He’s still beautiful, and kind, and smart. The best guy in Paris.”

“Oh, is _that_ all he is?”

They laughed, but the discussion wasn’t over. “I still like him a lot,” Marinette said. She drew her legs up onto her chair, wrapping her arms around them. “I guess I’m just more hung up on the… the dumbest guy in not-Paris. Or in Paris. I don’t _know_ where he is.”

Tikki hovered in front of her. “Chat Noir.”

Marinette smiled, nodding weakly. “I suppose I loved him back after all.”

Tikki’s look of sympathy made her heart hurt, and soon Tikki was pressing herself up against Marinette’s cheek in wordless comfort.

“You could put out an ad,” Tikki said. “Ladybug seeks former superhero companion. Reward: a kiss. He’d be there in a heartbeat!”

The thought of kissing Chat on purpose and not as part of some scheme was strange and not entirely unwelcome. There would be a horrible joke involved somewhere—he wouldn’t be able to resist making it—and the fact that she genuinely wanted to hear that joke was terrifying.

“If it was that easy, he’d be here already,” she said. She shook her head to clear it. “I’ve been in tight spots sometimes, and he’s never come to help. I think—he must not be in Paris anymore. That’s the only explanation.”

And it depressed her to no end.

Tikki thwapped her on the head, which was about as painful as being hit by a marshmallow. “You don’t know unless you try!”

Marinette shook her head again. “If I did find him, it’s just Ladybug he’s after. How can two costumed superheroes have a real relationship? We couldn’t go on dates, or live together, or… or any of that stuff.”

She hid her face, hoping Tikki wouldn’t read into what she meant by _that stuff_. Though she’d cheerfully listened when her friends told her about their sexual exploits, Marinette’s romantic history consisted solely of a handful of kisses. There hadn’t been anyone to tempt her beyond that, and she didn’t have it in her to be casual about things.

“Marinette…”

Marinette waved away Tikki’s concern, unfolding and picking up her book. “It’s fine! It’s probably better this way. Who wants that ridiculous jokester around all the time?”

“It wouldn’t be worth it for you just to see him?”

How could a squeaky voice like Tikki’s sound so sad?

“Of course it would,” Marinette said. “But I’d be so tempted to let him know who I am, and I’d want to find out who he is, and I don’t think I could resist. And then terrible things would happen, wouldn’t they?”

Tikki drooped. “It’s not guaranteed, but…”

Marinette let her trail off, nodding. Not seeing Chat Noir was for the best, really. It didn’t matter that she missed him.

“I’m glad Adrien’s back,” she told Tikki, and went back to her reading.

 

* * *

  

Marinette’s summer break wasn’t a break, per se. Her mentor at the institute was always available, and expected Marinette to keep working on her personal projects throughout the summer. Furthermore, while Marinette’s parents didn’t often ask her to help out, they did expect to see her at least once a week, and her hours filled quickly.

Ladybug’s life was a lot less hectic. Her summer break had started when Papillon was defeated, and carried on indefinitely. She did go out looking for trouble, sometimes, but she knew it was volunteer work—not work she was destined to do.

Tikki approved of the occasional patrols, though, and Tikki’s approval meant a lot to her.

If Marinette’s summer break wasn’t a break, Alya’s was worse. _Way_ worse—filled with research and trips and long nights at the library writing. Marinette was almost surprised to find Alya at the apartment when she came back from the bakery that evening.

“I have something to tell you,” Alya said, mock-solemn, when Marinette entered. She was sitting at the kitchen slash living room table, her laptop out in front of her and her eyes comically wide. Marinette had an idea what _something_ was, but she feigned ignorance.

“What is it? Nothing bad, right?”

“Disastrous,” Alya said, turning almost smug. “For you, at least.”

This was about Adrien, right? Marinette was starting to have doubts—but no, Alya was having fun. It was about Adrien.

“Adrien’s back in town!” Alya said, thumping her fists on the table, falling back into her cheerleading habits immediately. “Until _September_! Your first love opportunity is a go! Wait, why aren’t you jumping up and down?”

Marinette laughed, and jumped dutifully, which in turn made Alya laugh. When she’d stopped laughing, though, Alya raised an eyebrow.

“What is this?” she said. “You do know I mean Adrien _Agreste_ , right? The guy you once called _the golden standard all men should aim for in life_?”

“I’m not sure I said it quite like that.”

Alya shrugged. “That’s how I remember it. Creative license.”

“Bad journalism,” Marinette shot back, but she was grinning. She got herself a glass of water and sat down at the table primly, using a polka-dotted coaster she’d designed. “For your information, I knew already. He came to the bakery.”

“ _What?_ ” Alya’s voice was a shout, and progressed to a teakettle screech. “ _And you didn’t text me immediately afterward?_ ”

Marinette held up her hands in apology, feeling a real pang of guilt. If she didn’t have Tikki, she would have called Alya immediately—but she’d already discussed her feelings with Tikki after seeing Adrien, so telling Alya had slipped her mind.

 _Bad friend_ , she scolded herself. _Bad!_

Alya calmed right down, shifting from indignant to intrigued in seconds. She closed her laptop and pushed it aside in favour of looming over Marinette. “What’s this, then?”

Marinette withered under her gaze, like always. “What’s what?” she asked, her voice too high.

“You, not freaking out. Adrien _is_ the boy you’ve been pining for the past two years, right? There are _so_ _many_ people you could have dated, but I didn’t push, because I thought you wouldn’t want me to. Was I wrong?”

“No, you were right.” Marinette sighed. She was right about part of it, at least—the not wanting to be pushed into dating anyone part. “But I didn’t know Adrien that well. I saw he was kind and warm-hearted, and then I turned to mush in front of him for the next four years.”

Marinette groaned in memory, recalling a hundred different embarrassments, but she looked up when Alya grabbed her hands.

“Just FYI,” Alya said, “You are the sweetest, purest girl in the whole world. _I saw he was kind and warm-hearted_. Are you a Disney princess?”

It was Marinette’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “It’s not like I fell for the Hunchback of Notre-Dame.”

“So you saw he was kind, warm-hearted, and hot as hell. So to speak.”

Marinette nodded.

Alya retracted her hands, propping her head on one of them curiously. “So what changed? Still hot, based on what I’ve seen. Did he kick a small child in the bakery? Cut in line?”

Marinette gasped. “Of course not!” She realised only after Alya started laughing that Alya had been goading her, and smiled resentfully. “It was just different, that’s all.”

“Different how?”

“Well, I’m not sixteen. And…”

This was hard. She couldn’t say _and I think I’m in love with someone else_ ; that would invite more questions. So what explained it?

“I guess I just don’t see us together,” Marinette tried. “He’s so perfect. I don’t know that I’d ever be able to relax. He’s just…”

“Pause for joke,” Alya said, and Marinette stilled. “Just thought of it. You didn’t fall for the Hunchback of Notre-Dame, you fell for the Hunchback of Notre- _Damnnn_.” Her voice went English at the end, comical, and Marinette groaned.

“We had to pause for _that_ joke?”

“Laughter is the currency of friendship,” Alya said, grinning. “So are groans.”

If laughter was the currency of friendship, so was not pointing out that the jokes friends made didn’t really work. Adrien’s spine was perfectly straight, or rather, curved in all the right places.

“I bet he’s not perfect,” Alya said, and she drew her laptop towards her again, though it was still closed. It signalled the impending end of their conversation. “I bet if you got to know him there would be plenty of stuff that made him human.”

“This is Adrien we’re talking about.”

Alya shook her head. “So you’re not in love with him anymore, but you still worship the ground he walks on.”

“Privately.”

“You’re weird, Marinette. A huge weirdo.”

“Thanks,” Marinette said. She stood up from the table and patted Alya’s head; Alya opened up her laptop. “From you that’s a compliment.”

The room filled with typing noises, and Marinette could almost hear Alya tuning her out. That was Alya _in the zone_ for you: completely focused on you one moment, totally out of reach the next. Marinette looked around the living room and the open kitchen. It was cozy, decorated with things they loved. The framed Ladybug poster was Alya’s, but the polka-dotted beanbags were Marinette’s. It made their shared space look a bit like a Ladybug shrine, and anyone who knew Marinette was Ladybug might have accused her of vanity.

When she mused to Tikki about this on her way into her room, thinking it would make her laugh, Tikki preened.

“You dressed in polka dots _before_ you met me. You were already perfect for the job.”

Marinette laughed. It was true: she’d always loved cheerful polka dot designs, even before it became her superhero brand. She’d never known Tikki was so smug about it though.

She closed the door behind her, shutting out typing noises. Her own room had no Ladybug paraphernalia, even though the tiny space was just as densely decorated as the living room. There was a class photo from the last year of Lycée, a family photo, a photo of her and Alya, and—embarrassingly—a picture of Ladybug and Chat Noir with their arms around each other, grinning at the photographer. Marinette didn’t count it as Ladybug merchandise, because she’d put it up so she would have something to remind her of Chat.

If Chat ever found out Ladybug had a picture of him on his own in her room, she’d never live it down; better to pretend she was commemorating their friendship instead of ogling him. Not that she ogled—though he _had_ filled out in later years…

Her phone buzzed with an alert, and she checked it automatically. Her mind was fuzzy and nostalgic; she nearly dismissed the alert before reading it—and then her tired mind processed the words, and she opened the link to the article with shaky hands, suddenly wide awake. Her stomach swooped with tension.

 _Chat Noir spotted in Paris_ , a headline announced. Beneath it was a picture of a blurry outline on a roof, captioned ‘ _First Chat Noir sighting in years. Is it him?’_

The article went on to speculate, but Marinette didn’t read on. She stared at the picture as if her intent gaze could generate pixels.

“Maybe it’s not him,” she said to Tikki, who floated beside her. It seemed impossible that Chat would return to Paris on a day when she’d thought about him so much—too much of a coincidence.

“Maybe it is,” Tikki said. She drifted between Marinette and the phone. “What will you do?”

Marinette swallowed. “Do?”

“You said you’d be tempted to tell him who you were. Will you go to him?”

She wondered what Tikki hoped she would say. That she’d go, and not tell him? That she wouldn’t go at all?

Tikki seemed to sense her doubts. “It’s up to you, Marinette.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t tell him. Do I… do I lose my powers? Do I lose you?”

Tikki turned about in the gesture she used in lieu of shaking her head. “No. But the disguise is damaged.”

“Damaged?”

“As long as no one has definite proof, they can’t see through it. Do you remember that time you had a black eye, and Ladybug had a black eye too that afternoon, and _still_ no one guessed?”

Marinette nodded. It had been one event in a million that should have revealed her but didn’t.

“It’s not that you’re a good liar,” Tikki said. “But as long as you keep your secret, the disguise keeps its magic. No matter how many clues there are, if no one comes across definite proof of who you are, no one will ever guess.”

“And telling one person will…” She fumbled for words and ended up in fairytale-land. “‘Break the enchantment’?”

Tikki nodded. “You’d have to try harder to keep your secret, and people might still find out. It’s like a leak in a dam.” Her voice was sad, sympathetic.

“What should I do?”

Tikki put up her hands.

 _Up to me. Right_. If Marinette told Chat who she was, she ran the risk of revealing her identity to the world. It wasn’t as scary as losing her powers, but it was dangerous nonetheless. Not something to do on a whim just because she was excited to see an old friend.

“I’ll go see if it’s him,” she told Tikki, her stomach in knots of guilt—but Tikki didn’t scold her. Then, more to herself than to Tikki: “I won’t tell him who I am.”

Not yet, anyway.


	2. Reunion night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me last chapter! People who comment on in-progress multichapters are the fabric that holds the fic-writing community together...! ;v; I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well.

Adrien sat with his back against a chimney, watching the sky darken. The sight of Paris from this vantage was achingly familiar, though it felt strange to be Chat Noir again. He’d worn hoodies and trousers over his outfit when he fought crime as Chat the past two years, afraid that people would connect Adrien Agreste’s well-publicised movements with Chat’s.

He felt sort of naked without his disguise-on-top-of-a-disguise, but this was his home ground. People knew Chat was a Paris sight, and no one but Adrien’s friends knew Adrien was home—yet.

They wouldn’t make the connection, would they? His friends in school hadn’t, and they should have realised a thousand times over…

He waited for a dismissive comment from Plagg for a moment before realising Plagg was unavailable. Strange: a few years ago, Adrien had just about considered Chat Noir his natural state of being, the real him. Now the transformation felt foreign.

It wouldn’t feel foreign if she was here. Would she show up? He’d let himself be spotted before climbing to a better vantage point. Was it ridiculous to hope she’d turn up when he’d been so horrible about leaving? He’d begged to know who she was, even though he knew it made her uncomfortable, and he still remembered the way she’d plugged her ears and sung off-key when he tried to tell her who _he_ was. He’d been an ass.

He’d also been convinced he was losing the love of his life, so he forgave his younger self just a little. He was still convinced Ladybug was the love of his life even now, but he wouldn’t be a dick about it if she thought otherwise. He’d resolved as much to himself on the flight back to Paris.

“Plagg,” he informed the air. “I’ve grown so much. You’d shed a tear, seeing me now.”

In addition to shedding a tear, Plagg would inform Adrien that talking to himself—even while in magical disguise—would leave people with a bad impression.

Time passed, and the sky pulled on towards dusky blue, abandoning its purples and golds. The breeze carried a chill. Adrien stood up, placing his hands on his hips.

“What if she doesn’t come?” he asked imaginary-Plagg. There were regular Ladybug sightings in Paris still, so he knew she was here, but there was no guarantee she wanted anything to do with him anymore. She didn’t need a partner, and he’d abandoned her.

_After vanquishing the big bad guy_ , he imagined Plagg arguing, although it was awfully supportive and probably out of character. _And bring me more cheese_ , Adrien added mentally, to make the mental voice sound like Plagg. There, better.

There must have been some noise, or a shifting of shadows, because all of a sudden Adrien was hyper alert. He whirled, and there she was, two roofs away. That walk was just as he’d remembered it, oozing confidence and capability, and he bowed theatrically.

“My lady. I didn’t know if you’d come.”

She walked to the roof opposite, a street away—but no closer. Shingles clinked lightly as she sat down at the edge of her roof, wrapping her arms around her updrawn knees and watching him. He sat too, sensing she wanted that distance between them.

“Neither did I,” she said. Her gaze was intent, totally focused on him. He wasn’t used to that from her, and it sent shivers up his back. The tension between them might have powered the whole neighbourhood; the wind blew down the street that separated them, and Adrien’s imagination conjured up tumbleweeds and western music.

“Are we having a stand-off?” he asked, smiling slightly.

“Obviously not,” Ladybug said. Then: “We’re sitting.”

He barked a laugh, surprised, then wondered if it had been wrong. Was she annoyed? Angry? But a cautious smile spread over her face, and his anxiety melted away.

“You’re not angry,” he said in a breath, too relieved to stay quiet. His shoulders slumped. “I’m so glad.”

“I was _sad_ ,” she told him. “For a really long time.”

Her bold admission made him feel like a weight was pressing in on his heart, about to crush it. Ladybug sad… that was an awful thought. Worse than Ladybug angry, which he’d seen plenty of times.

“I was sad too,” he said. “It… wasn’t exactly my choice, if you can believe me. But I should have told you I was leaving, and I didn’t.”

They were silent, caught on their separate rooftops.

“That’s why you wanted to know who I was,” Ladybug said after an age. Stars twinkled behind her, their brilliance dimmed by streetlights. “So we could stay in contact.”

“Mostly,” Adrien agreed. He wouldn’t mention the fact that he wanted to know everything there was to know about her. He also wouldn’t mention how heartbroken he’d been over her total lack of interest in who _he_ was under the mask—like it didn’t matter to her at all.

It seemed silly now. She’d just been trying to be careful for both their sakes, hadn’t she? She obviously had her reasons.

“So, my lady—” he swept another bow, though it was hard to do while seated “—how can I repent for my crimes?”

She scoffed at his antics, letting her yoyo fly in his direction. It tapped him lightly on the chest; he caught it.

“You want to beat me up with this?” he said, looking down at it. “Very well. I will take any punishment my lady requires.”

“Mm,” she said. “It’s tempting. Alas, I’m progressive, and against corporeal punishment.”

Adrien drooped in what he hoped was a comical fashion, trying to look disappointed that she wouldn’t be beating him up with her yoyo in glorious retribution. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

He waited for the laugh, the instant dismissal of his flirting, but when he looked at her she was staring, seeming at a loss. He hurried to fix his mistake, whatever it was.

“Hey!” he said, holding up the yoyo. “If I cataclysmed the string, what would win? Your yoyo or my hand?”

She zipped her yoyo back. “Paws off, kitty. I don’t want to lose either of those things.”

She considered his hand an asset? He glowed at this faint praise. “If you like my hand so much, why don’t you hold it?”

“However much I like you, I can’t like you as much as you like yourself. Hold your own hand.”

“It’s not a competition, dear lady! There’s enough of me for both of us—”

She stood abruptly, and his sentence trailed off. God, she was perfect. How could someone look perfect in a skin-tight, polka-dotted red suit?

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said. To his horror, she turned away—to leave? “I missed you.”

He used his staff to hop over to her roof, catching her hands before she could start swinging away. She let him stop her. Wind tugged at them, and it took Adrien a moment to realise she wasn’t resisting.

He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm him. There it was: her smell. How had he forgotten it? It was probably a good thing she didn’t let him close often; he’d spend hours sniffing her hair and neck.

Blue eyes rose to meet his, sending electricity crackling down his spine. Why wasn’t she pulling away, or fending him off, or cracking jokes?

“Um,” he said, like a fool. What was he supposed to do, say? His mind drew a complete blank.

She inclined her head, regaining some of her usual confidence. “Um,” she echoed, giving him a chance.

“Don’t go yet,” he managed. “I missed you too.”

“How much?” she countered immediately. His already hammering heart sped further. What was this? Since when did she wheedle him for evidence of his affection? He’d always made his admiration clear.

“A lot,” he said, unsure. “Every day.”

This seemed to be a satisfactory answer. “Did you ever think of coming back?”

Maybe these were easy questions. “Every day.”

She swallowed. “And why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t until now. I guess I—” his mouth closed, and suddenly he was back in Marinette’s bakery, telling her about his father and how hard it was to say no to him. It was strange; he could never talk about these things with the person he admired most. He wished he could. Would her sympathy be as immediate as Marinette’s? Would she understand without him saying much of anything?

He tasted vanilla frosting from earlier on his tongue, remembered Marinette’s easy smiles. He wanted that with Ladybug, and more. But how could they ever have it?

“What is it?” Ladybug asked, and her tone was just like Marinette’s. He shook his head.

“It’s hard to explain, without you knowing the rest. It wouldn’t make any sense.”

He was still holding her. The time to let go had come and gone; him holding her was a thing now, and he could let go and pretend to be embarrassed or he could acknowledge it in some other way. He chose the latter, moving his hands up her arms to her shoulders before gently cupping her face, letting himself look his fill.

She was blushing. Since when did Ladybug blush in front of him?

“It’s good to see you again,” he said. He couldn’t think of a single joke.

Her eyes slid from his, though her head didn’t move. “A picture would last longer,” she said.

“I have pictures.”

She was no longer avoiding his gaze. Instead, he was treated to a sharp look. “What?”

“I am the Ladyblog’s number one fan,” he murmured. His thumb caressed her cheek, but there was little sensation. How could they have what he wanted them to have? He wanted to kiss, to touch with his bare hands, to let her know in no uncertain terms just how much he’d missed her, but he couldn’t even feel her cheek beneath his thumb.

She gripped his wrists. “Chat, we—”

“Right!” Adrien yelled, jumping back. “We can’t do anything like that, I’m sorry.”

He flinched when he heard his own voice. And what exactly would she think he meant by _anything like that_? His fantasies betrayed him; they’d only been standing opposite one another, his hands on her face.

“I don’t mean we can’t,” she said. “But if we did, we’d be tempted to… to reveal ourselves. And Tikki said that once one person sees you for who you really are, others are more likely to guess. It’s part of the magic, she says.”

He heard her words, and would think on them later, but for the moment his mind caught on _I don’t mean we can’t_.

Was she saying what he thought she was saying? No—no way. She wasn’t saying they could… be like that. To each other. She just meant, _in theory_ …

“Chat? Are you listening?”

“Yes!” God, why was he jumping about like a guilty schoolboy?

“I thought you should know,” she said, and again she looked like she was leaving. There was something very unsure about her—something new—and it occurred to him that the thing she was unsure about was him.

The thought depressed him thoroughly, dragging him out of the rosy glow from standing near her for so long. They’d lost something, and he’d fight tooth and claw to get it back.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, watching her fiddle with her yoyo.

“Oh! You want to? It’s … not essential. Sometimes the people I stop are real crooks, but other times they just need a stern talking to, and some help in the right direction. The police could do it too, if I didn’t.”

He folded his arms. “But you do it better, don’t you?”

She jumped, looking at the yoyo in her hands, then smiled at him with just a hint of smugness. “Well— _I_ think so. Or I wouldn’t do it.”

“Then lead on, my lady.”

She grinned and wound up for a throw.

 

* * *

 

 

Adrien swung into his old bedroom much later, detransforming at leisure. With deliberate slowness, he removed a key from his pocket and opened the little safe he’d invested in during high school.

“Faster!” Plagg pleaded through a mouthful of drool. Adrien had to clench his jaw and press his lips together to keep from laughing. Plagg had been talking about French cheese almost constantly for the past two years, extolling its virtues, and the two wheels he’d eaten on their arrive obviously hadn’t satisfied him.

Since Plagg enjoyed torturing Adrien with various things, Adrien enjoyed torturing him back—just a bit. He wondered what Ladybug’s kwami was like. Sweet, like her?

Wait, no. That would make Plagg a reflection of Adrien’s inner self too, wouldn’t it? And Adrien would prance around proclaiming himself the king of France before he’d eat Camembert; his revulsion had only increased with repeated exposure.

The safe was open, and for a while gobbling noises filled Adrien’s overlarge room. He left Plagg to it and wandered to the couch. He collapsed onto it, sighing heavily. Why couldn’t his time with Ladybug last forever?

He could still smell her soft, floral scent on his clothes. He was probably imagining it, but that didn’t matter much. He flexed his hand and brought it up to his face, longing for traces of her.

“‘The young man brought his knuckles to his nose,’” Plagg narrated. “‘He could smell her sweaty fingers on his own still, from when they fistbumped’—”

Adrien threw a pillow. “It’s been two years! I’m allowed to be a sentimental. You know what it’s been like.”

“Ah, youth. To feel the slings and arrows of—what was it? I can’t recall. Happen to be ancient, you know.”

The discussion that followed, like Plagg, was old. “Haven’t you ever been in love?”

Plagg sighed. He was still eating, but the frenzy had ended one wheel ago. “Haven’t you ever thought life is more fun _without_ letting your happiness rely on someone else?”

Adrien turned onto his side, looking out the dark windows. “I trust her with my happiness.”

“Should you?”

“Has Ladybug ever let us down?”

Plagg said nothing, continuing his meal.

“Besides, she’s not my only source of happiness. I’m seeing Nino tomorrow, and I saw Marinette today.”

“That was interesting, wasn’t it?”

Adrien smiled. He’d been pleasantly surprised by Marinette’s warmth at the bakery, how genuinely happy she’d been to see him. It had stunned him. “It was. She’s really come into herself since—”

“What I mean is it’s interesting you went to see her _first_. Before you tried to see Nino.”

“I didn’t go to see her first,” Adrien said, watching Plagg. “I went to buy pastries for tomorrow, and she happened to be there.”

“Makes more sense to buy them the same day.”

“Your cheese sits for weeks.”

“It’s _meant_ to,” Plagg said. He turned back to the previous topic. “You don’t think it’s strange, then?”

“I supposed I wanted to be somewhere familiar. Somewhere I had good memories of. I didn’t know she’d be there.”

But he’d been so happy to see her anyway. If he didn’t feel the way he did for Ladybug, then maybe… but that wasn’t worth thinking about. He felt the way he felt.

“She probably has a boyfriend,” Plagg said dismissively, giving up on this line of questioning; he tended to get tired of discussions halfway through, pulling himself out of them early. Adrien frowned. What kind of guy would Marinette fall for? Someone quiet?

She wasn’t quiet, though—she’d only ever been quiet to him.

He checked his phone, finding several messages from Nino and one from Alya. The ones from Nino were about tomorrow, giving him a thousand options for where to go, all of which sounded good to Adrien, and the one from Alya just said, _“You’re back!!! We’re all hanging out, soon! Keep Sun free.”_

He replied a quick affirmative. Unlike Nino, who was spending many of his evenings in clubs, building his reputation as a DJ, Adrien had no obligations. None at all. Not even one. He could continue his studies and try to get ahead—his university course was extremely challenging—but it didn’t really count as an _obligation_. It could be dropped if he needed to drop it.

Perhaps he’d been a bit too forceful in his _no modelling_ demand to his father. He could do a shoot or two… if he had to…

Why did he always feel like he had to be doing something?

“Plagg, I don’t know how to do nothing. Teach me.”

“Step one,” Plagg said, sailing overhead. “Accept that you don’t have to do anything. Step two: success!”

Plagg was a horrible source of advice if you weren’t an ancient creature whose only priority was food.

“Just now, I believe what you’re supposed to do is sleep,” Plagg suggested after a pause. “Where’s that jetlag you complained about earlier?”

“I guess being a superhero has its perks,” Adrien said. His transformation had cleared that little problem right up. Perhaps if he got into bed he would be able to sleep, but he felt utterly restless. He wanted to be out on the rooftops again, sailing through air. He wanted to see Ladybug again, already. They’d fistbumped. It was over. And yet…

He sat up, sighed. “I wish I could see her again.”

Plagg did a double-take. “Marinette?”

“Ladybug,” Adrien said.

“Good luck tracking her down,” Plagg said, in an I’m-not-going voice. It was bluster, of course; Plagg didn’t have much of a choice, and he’d just eaten double his weight in expensive cheese, something that always made him malleable.

“I can’t go see Ladybug,” Adrien said, thinking. He was just so—what? Lonely? Restless? “I _could_ go see Marinette.”

Marinette knew Chat Noir. In fact, she showed a totally different face to Chat Noir than she did to Adrien. She was funny to be around when he was his alter ego—and didn’t she live with Alya now? Was it absurd to visit old friends in superhero form?

He walked to his desk, finding the email Alya had sent out on the occasion of her and Marinette’s apartment-warming. Adrien still remembered getting the invite, and how touched he’d been to be included despite the fact that he wouldn’t be able to attend.

“Marinette and Alya’s Super-Awesome Apartment-Warming Party,” Plagg read from the screen. “We’re going there now?!”

“Eighteen months too late is better than never, isn’t it?”

He didn’t give Plagg a chance to reply before transforming, though he thought he felt Plagg’s exasperation surround him as he transformed. He laughed, then realised he was laughing to himself in an empty room.

Not strange at all. Nope. Very normal.

He was out the window in seconds, flying back across Paris to the address on the invitation. The journey was long, but it was no hardship; above him, a waxing moon shone bright. Paris felt different with Papillon gone, no longer filled with shadows in every corner. Or were Papillon and the akumas a symptom successfully treated, the disease still there?

It was something to consider, sometime. Maybe he could discuss it with Ladybug one day.

He got to the right apartment building, which was old, with large windows, which were new. He hung from the roof upside down, looking in, and found himself staring straight at Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who’d been staring out the window at the moon, her room dark.

In hindsight, visiting people as Chat Noir was an absurd idea.

Marinette opened the large window, and Adrien swung into her room easily.

“Good evening, Princess.” He bowed, trying not to think of how stupid he must look. “May I ask how you are doing?”

“You—here—why—”

“I’m conducting a survey,” he said. “Have you felt personally victimised by my absence? Yes? It was to be expected, but I’m here to apologise in person.”

Marinette was still struggling to find words, and he noticed with interest the way she knocked one of the photo frames on her desk onto its face. Who was in the photo?

“Alya?” she called to the other room, ignoring him entirely. “You might want to stop looking for your superhero duo.”

“They’re calling this _Reunion Night_ ,” Alya shouted back. “I’m not spending a moment of it offline. Damn it, why didn’t I get the alerts sooner? I could have—”

“Come here!” Marinette yelled. She propped her hands on her hips and observed Adrien. “I trust you have a better explanation than that? Because my friend will drag it out of you. Come on.”

Adrien followed Marinette into the brightly lit living room, and immediately lost his train of thought. Along one wall was a framed poster depicting a larger than life Ladybug. Adrien would have liked to wander over to it to examine it thoroughly, but he had another task first.

“Dear Alya,” he said, bowing over her limp hand. “May I thank you for your continued dedication to the Ladyblog?”

Alya rubbed her hand where he’d pretended to kiss it, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Ladybug?”

“If I knew that, I’d be there!” Adrien said wistfully. “But I’m here on official business.” _Official, totally made-up business._ “Who could be more informed on the movements of superheroes—or villains—than Paris’s best journalist-to-be? I just wanted to know if there’s anything going on that you might not blog about: mysterious disappearances, Papillon cultists, Ladybug getting a boyfriend…”

“You’re here to snoop on her!” Alya said. “Unbelievable!”

“Not snoop!” Adrien said, feeling suddenly guilty. How could even his fake reason for visiting be offensive? “I just want to be… helpful.”

Marinette sat down on one of the beanbags, watching him. “I’m sure you’re helpful already. Weren’t you two haring around the city earlier?”

“I was no help at all,” Adrien said. He moved to look up at Ladybug. This poster was old—at least two years out-of-date, based on hairstyle and figure. “Doesn’t this need an update?” he asked the two girls.

“Strangely, giant, up-to-date posters of Ladybug are fairly limited edition,” Alya said. “Who knew?”

“There must still be a demand!” Adrien said, almost insulted. He looked at the two of them. “Isn’t there?”

“Don’t ask me,” Marinette said. “Not my poster.”

“I agree with you,” Alya told Adrien. “Ladybug is still as popular as ever, but…”

Adrien raised his brows. “What?”                                                     

“Some of the attention isn’t great,” Alya said. Her nose wrinkled. “Creepy fans, you know. So she does a lot less promo stuff now. Not that she ever did very much, but it’s harder to get her to stop for pictures. I’m one of the few people she trusts, and my Ladyblog is heavily moderated.”

Adrien’s jaw ached, and he realised he was clenching it. Why hadn’t Ladybug mentioned this? She’d been all sweetness and light—well, maybe sass and light—when they went around the city together.

“Tell me their IPs,” Adrien said. “I’ll go find them. You can do that, can’t you?”

Alya shook her head. “Don’t be stupid. And it’s not like you can do anything. You never noticed the weird press?”

Adrien humphed. “The Ladyblog is the number one source of Ladybug news. Where else would I look?”

Alya grinned, while Marinette seemed—amused? He looked at her curiously.

“You’re not a fan?” he asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m _not_ a fan,” Marinette said, flapping a hand. “Please continue ranting and raving about her. It’s not like we have things to do.”

Alya ran over to a drawer and grabbed a notebook. “More importantly, tell us about tonight. What did she say? What did you say? Did you stop any bad guys? What was it like to see her again?”

Adrien folded his arms, thinking hard. He wouldn’t say too much, but perhaps he could use the Ladyblog to address the problem of creepy Ladybug fans. He turned to Alya.

“I’ll give you an interview, but only if you promise to put in a message to people that I’ll come after them if they post weird stuff about Ladybug.”

Alya raised an eyebrow sardonically. “I’m not sure that’ll have the intended effect. Some of them are quite vocal about you too, and she can take care of herself.”

Adrien frowned. “Still.”

“Fine, fine. We’ll put in a threatening message. Come on, sit down. How much time do you have?”

He wandered over to the offered chair. “To talk about my great love? All the time in the world.”

Alya settled in, and the questions started—with Marinette looking curiously on.


	3. Gonna (not) get over you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much (again) to commenters, here and on tumblr! Your just reward: a very fast update c: Hope you enjoy!

Marinette didn’t buy Chat’s reason for visiting.

Oh, he told the lie convincingly enough. He managed to seem like he meant it, but Marinette had seen him lie in all sorts of situations: as a distraction, as a line of defence, as a strategy, and she knew what Chat’s lies looked like; they looked just like he’d looked a little while ago, convincing her and Alya he was here to gather information.

Marinette watched him at the dining table with Alya, nestled in her beanbag. She had her phone out, but she wasn’t looking at it; her gaze remained on Chat.

_Why are you here?_ she thought at him. They’d said goodbye earlier, and she’d come home intensely wistful, her body a mess of longing and restlessness. She’d sighed at the moon—and then Chat’s head had appeared at her window as if her thoughts had summoned him, and he’d waved at her like he dropped in like this all the time.

He _had_ met up with her and Alya before, in various ways, but a house visit? Really?

She listened even as her thoughts churned, noticing how Chat steered Alya away from any identity-revealing questions. Where had he been the past two years? A circuitous answer that could lead the listener to believe anything. Why had he left? He hadn’t had much choice. Could he elaborate? No, he couldn’t.

The questions about Ladybug were what made Marinette feel melty on the inside, though. Chat was a joker, normally, but he spoke with utter sincerity now. How did he feel about leaving Ladybug alone for so long? He hated it, but he knew she could handle herself. Did he think she needed him? No, he didn’t. Would she be more successful on her own? This question caused the longest pause yet, but eventually, after much consideration, Chat said no.

Marinette smiled. Good: he knew he was valued, then.

As the questions went on, it became harder and harder not to go over there and smother him. She wanted to wrap around him and tell him it was mutual and he didn’t need to look so lonely. She wanted to pepper his face with kisses and tell him she didn’t mind online creeps; there were always online creeps. None of them were a match for her yoyo, and there was no one to akumatise them into superpowered creeps now that Papillon’s Miraculous was back with the custodian. She wanted him not to worry about her at all.

She’d berate him for it once she was Ladybug again.

“You have a question?” Alya threw at Marinette, making her jump. She’d been deep in thought, staring at the two of them.

Chat sensed her hesitation. “I’d be honoured to answer your question, Princess.”

All Marinette’s questions were inappropriate, and childish, but she picked the best one she could. “Would you date her if you could?”

Chat’s eyes widened. “Ladybug?”

“Yes.”

Marinette watched in wonder as his face coloured, cheeks going rosy with embarrassment. At being asked, or—

“Yes,” Chat said succinctly. He flapped a hand as if to wave off his uncharacteristic bashfulness. “Of course.”

Marinette looked away, heart thumping. _You knew that already, you dork_ , she berated herself, but was it so bad to hear it again?

Alya sighed at Marinette. “Of course he would. This has been confirmed time and again. It’s Ladybug who sees him as a partner and nothing else.”

Chat’s head ducked, the embarrassed glow from earlier fading to a pallor. He didn’t argue, though she wanted him to. _Alya doesn’t know everything!_ she wanted to tell him, but it made no sense for her to take a stand. As Alya took over the questions again, Marinette looked to Tikki for solidarity, cuddled in her lap out of sight.

“I want to tell him,” she whispered to Tikki.

“I know,” Tikki said.

The interview continued for a little longer, but Chat’s answers were getting clipped. Alya could go on forever if he let her; Marinette decided to put a stop to it.

“We all need to go to sleep,” she announced. “Come on, Superhero. Time to leave us in peace.”

“I’m not done!” Alya said, but Marinette saw Chat’s grateful look and put her foot down.

“What was that journalism thing about not estranging your best sources?” she asked sweetly, and Alya capitulated. Marinette beckoned Chat through to her room, which—not coincidentally—had the best window for climbing out of. Alya managed a distracted goodbye, already working on her article.

In her dark room together, Marinette wished she knew what to say. She fussed over the window, taking her time to open it. Chat’s looming presence behind her made her nervous, but she wondered if she even registered on his radar when she was like this. He obviously liked her enough to visit, but what did he see her as? A random fan? That was such a strange thought, when they shared so much.

She got the latch open, pushing the window open and tapping the pipe next to it.

“You can climb this to the roof,” she said, forgetting for a moment that normal people didn’t have advice on how best to get to the roof. “I think,” she added. “Be careful.”

Chat laughed, bowing over her hand when she turned. “Your concern does you credit, but this pipe will not vanquish me where Papillon failed.”

She was glad to hear humour return to his tone, but it sounded forced. She caught his hand when he attempted to let her go.

“A lot can change in two years,” she told him, overwhelmed by his solid presence in a dark room, his scent. She wanted to press up against him, let her arms slide around his neck… but the act would be very different from his perspective. God, that was an embarrassing thought—to be gently put aside by Chat. He’d probably even be nice about it, and flattered. Gag.

“What?” Chat asked, sounding surprised.

“You’ve changed, haven’t you? Maybe Ladybug has too.”

“She’s as beautiful and vibrant as ever,” he assured her.

Marinette snorted, pushing him to the window. “I guess you haven’t changed at all. All right—goodbye! See you again! Try not to knock your head!”

He looked back at her from the window, his face silvery in the moonlight. She thought she saw confusion there, or curiosity. Something about her had caught his interest, but she wouldn’t ask what. She wanted him gone so she could fall face-down on her bed and groan.

He obliged. “Goodbye, fair princess. Thank you for your… encouragement.”

She waved weakly and watched him go, closing the window behind him. Once he was gone, she shut the curtains firmly, walked to her bed, and let herself fall forward onto it. Her comforter-muffled groan lasted an exact twenty seconds, ten of which Tikki spent laughing at her good-naturedly.

“Did you say something?” Alya called from the living room.

“Good riddance!” Marinette said, hoping it seemed believable. She didn’t want Alya to know she’d been groaning in lovesick frustration.

Alya laughed. “They can’t both be Ladybug!”

Marinette flipped over, content that Alya wouldn’t be checking on her. She stared at the dark ceiling and had no idea what to do or even—realistically—what she wanted. She wanted to be with Chat, but had no way to do so without jeopardising both of them, for the rest of their lives. Could she really live her life as Marinette if she ended up standing in Ladybug’s spotlight? And what was to stop people she’d offended somehow from tracking her down when she wasn’t super-powered?

It was all too much. She’d managed for two years without Chat. Just because he was back—just because she wanted to rush over to wherever he was and stay there—didn’t mean anything had to change. She’d just continue with her life. In a few days, she and Alya would be hanging out with old school friends. Marinette would remember what it was like to be herself, _by_ herself, and she’d stop wishing she could wipe that lonely look from Chat’s masked face.

It wasn’t her responsibility. She knew that.

But it felt like it.

 

* * *

  

Marinette kept herself from going to meet Chat as Ladybug the next few nights, but that didn’t mean she didn’t see him. He was everywhere, all local news media plastered with his face and totally inaccurate quotes based on Alya’s interview. There were several articles that said he’d been in jail, or in Papillon’s clutches. These made Marinette laugh, which she needed when she came across an exposé headlined ‘Ladybug’s rejection’, which told the story of a heartbroken Chat leaving her after she turned him down a final time two years ago.

It was idiotic, based on nothing but what some tale-spinner thought might have happened. Meanwhile, Chat’s desired comment on the Ladyblog, telling people to be respectful to Ladybug or else, had had an interesting effect. There were people who accepted it at face value, seeming cheered by his support, but most had other ideas. Some thought it confirmed a romantic relationship between the two heroes, and others—vocal others—saw Chat as some long-suffering, misunderstood angel nursing a broken heart: a perfect boy who deserved better than Ladybug. Which brought on a tide of mean anti-Ladybug commenters Alya spent a long time ranting about the next two days.

“He’s her _friend_!” Alya yelled, pacing. “Why do they say he deserves better? He’d punch anyone who said these things about her!”

Alya gestured at her laptop screen, which Marinette refused to read. She knew it would rip at her self-esteem, and she didn’t need that kind of negativity. There would always be people keen to throw her under the bus; it was one of the reasons maintaining her secret identity was so important.

“Stop reading them,” Marinette said. “Put up a note—comments closed. Aren’t you meant to be writing about that music festival?”

“I worked ahead so I’d have all of Sunday off, and then I worked ahead some more. I have time for the Ladyblog.”

Alya went back to the task of slogging through vitriol, and Marinette went back to her own projects; the next day, it was time for their much looked forward to hangout slash welcome back to Adrien: a picnic in the park. Marinette’s parents helped her pack the best picnic basket in all of Paris, and the day shone. The confusion of the past few days cleared from Marinette’s head as she and Alya made their way to the park together, picking a spot under the trees, in view of the Seine. They were the first ones there, laying out their blanket and congratulating themselves on excellent planning.

Next came Rose and Juleka, then Nino and Adrien. Marinette sensed Alya’s eyes on her as she greeted Adrien, and _that_ made her nervous more than Adrien’s presence did.

“I brought Camembert for you!” she told him once Alya turned away, grinning. “I didn’t _tell_ anyone it was for you…”

He smiled, though this particular smile made him look like he had a toothache. “That was very kind of you.”

“It’s your favourite, isn’t it?” She remembered the time he’d come to her half-panicked, asking if there was any Camembert in the hotel kitchen. It had amused her to think of perfect Adrien liking stinky cheese.

“Er—yes. Thank you.”

He took his place shyly, and Marinette looked on, bemused. He _did_ harbour a secret love for Camembert, right? Why did he seem so mortified? She supposed he worried about his model mystique, even among friends.

She nodded to herself. She’d keep his secret, if she had to. No one would hear from _her_ that Adrien loved Camembert.

“What has everyone been up to?” Alya asked, clapping. She had a streak of jam at the corner of her mouth, which Marinette wiped away as unobtrusively as she could.

“Juleka’s been published!” Rose yelled immediately, causing Juleka to shush her—as quietly as ever.

“In a student magazine,” Juleka said, in a way that said it wasn’t impressive in the least. “A poem…”

“That’s amazing!” Marinette told her. “What was it about?”

“Colours… seasons…”

“It was beautiful,” Rose assured the group. She looked around. “I wish the others could be here…”

“Busy,” Alya said, shrugging. “Mylène said she’d try to make it still. And Adrien? What’s China like?”

“It’s… high-pressure.” He didn’t quite meet anyone’s eye. “The city’s amazing, when I manage to go out, but most of my friends have their noses in books all the time. Well—they have to.”

“Just like you then,” Nino said, nudging him, and Adrien smiled.

“Yeah. I have to be that way to keep up. Some of the nearby parks are amazing though! The Summer Palace was—”

“Yes, yes,” Nino said, waving. “Can we skip Adrien in history nerd mode?”

Alya inclined her head. “I thought he was a physics nerd?”

“He’s an everything-nerd,” Nino complained. “Really—try being his best friend. You look unintelligent no matter _what_ comes up.”

Marinette smiled, enjoying the thought of Adrien as an everything-nerd. He really was perfect. She congratulated herself on having picked such an excellent human being to have crushed on. She was less sure of her newer choice—but then, it wasn’t really a choice, was it?

She turned and saw Mylène running across the grass to them and called a greeting. The catch-ups continued, and then the conversation turned to other things. As the main group became too big to carry just one conversation, people split off, and Marinette found herself talking to Adrien, watching the river side by side.

“What are you doing now?” he asked. “I realised after I left that I didn’t ask.”

Adrien’s quiet intensity reminded Marinette of why she’d fallen for him in the first place. She blushed under the full force of his attention, still not immune to his charm. He really was gorgeous, and kind, and—

“I’m studying at the fashion institute,” she said quickly. “My mentor is keeping me busy. I like it, though.”

“I remember all the stuff you designed for Jagged Stone,” he said. “That was amazing. You were so young, and—”

“Stop! I’m not accepting that from someone who was a world-famous model by age fourteen.” Also, having him speak to her in that admiring voice made her skin warm with pleasure, and she was hot enough as it was. She glared up at the foliage as if it could make their patch of shade cooler if it tried harder.

“That’s different,” Adrien said. “That was just connections, and—well, looking a certain way, I guess. It didn’t mean I was good at anything.”

“But you were,” Marinette said. She looked at Adrien, blinking in surprise. She’d known he was humble, but these denials went beyond humility. Didn’t he realise how amazing he was? “You were fluent in Mandarin, you were the best at physics, you were nice to everyone. _And_ you were a world-famous model.”

He watched her back as intently as she watched him, and felt heat flood her body. Maybe she wasn’t in the thick of her crush anymore, but she couldn’t help responding to him in all the old ways. Could you get over a first love like Adrien, who was a good person in addition to being a heartthrob?

“I think you’re more amazing,” he said quietly. “You’ve always been your own person, no matter what. I remember how you always went head-to-head with Chloe, like—‘Someone has to stop her, and it might as well be me.’” He smiled. “That always amazed me.”

There was that electric feeling she knew so well, the one that used to make her giggle and stutter, but she was older now. All she could do was sit and meet Adrien’s gaze, trying to tell herself she was imagining the mutual interest she saw in him. Could she get over Chat, if she had someone like Adrien at her side?

She thought she might be able to—if she could convince herself to try. For the moment, she couldn’t, and perhaps she was imagining the subtle current between them—perhaps Adrien felt nothing at all.

Still. It was nice to think there were alternatives, even if she knew there weren’t.

The picnic continued well into the evening, somehow ending at a club Nino DJed at. Marinette stayed for a while, then made her excuses and headed home, still caught in her Chat-centric introspection. Hanging out with friends was supposed to put him from her mind. Hanging out with Adrien, specifically, was meant to remind her great boys were still out there.

It was no good. Nothing could quite put her obnoxious other half from her mind. She transformed on her way home, taking to the skies, unable to keep her feelings contained in the guise of Marinette; she needed to be out on the rooftops.

She also knew being Ladybug would draw him out. He’d been out every night since they’d met, and she knew he’d hoped she would join him. She hadn’t. She’d wanted to give normal life a try, only to find thoughts of him consuming her normal life too. Something had to give; she’d make it give. A part of her longed for Tikki’s advice on the subject—unavailable in costume—but she knew what Tikki would say.

_It’s up to you, Marinette._

It took a long while for Chat to catch up with her. The fat moon sat content in the sky, brilliant even above the slender form of the lit-up Eiffel tower. She sighed at the view, then at herself.

_You’re hopeless_ , she informed herself. Was she really willing to sacrifice her privacy for that dumb cat?

And then, from the opposite side—was she still trying to convince herself he wasn’t worth it?

Finally—after an age—she heard him. He wasn’t quiet as he ran across rooftops to join her, and his breathing was ragged when he caught up, standing puffing a few paces behind her.

“My lady,” he gasped out, looking totally dishevelled. “Your beauty—the moon—”

She pressed her lips together. His flirting was smoother usually; he must have run exceptionally fast.

“My beauty? The moon?”

“The moon pales,” he managed, hands on knees. “You are the only light… in my sky…”

She laughed, more out of habit than amusement. She noticed the way her body changed when he was near, relaxing and tensing at the same time. Perhaps her mind relaxed as her body tensed, the latter filled with that delicious anticipation. Either way, things finally fell into place, and a part of her hated that it was _him_ who caused it. Why did it have to be him?

_How could it be anyone else?_

“You’d be a lot more charming if you caught your breath first,” she said, but it was a lie. The fact that he prioritised complimenting her over catching his breath was charming beyond measure.

“You’d be a lot easier to follow if you told me where you were going first,” Chat said. “I have to wait for alerts, you know. If you could just email me…”

She smiled. “Sorry. I’ll do better next time.”

He’d finally recovered, and he straightened. “My lady… I’ve been waiting to talk to you. I have to ask you something important. You know how I feel about you. Someone said a lot can change in two years. Did… did anything change for you?”

She pretended to think. “I got better-looking.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “Besides that.”

His joker mask was slipping. She swallowed. She’d been the one to tell him things changed; she’d precipitated this conversation, unbeknownst to him.

“Chat…”

“I told myself I wouldn’t ask for more than you wanted to give me,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about me pressuring you for anything. I just wondered if—maybe—”

She didn’t let him finish. This time, she was the one to grab his face, looking up into it searchingly. His eyes were wide, his expression vulnerable despite the mask. Naked want was written in his features, the same nameless longing she’d felt ever since she realised he wasn’t coming back.

They belonged together. How could she belong with anyone else when he was out there in the world? Yet at the same time, long habit railed against letting him know just how much she cared. What if he was intolerable afterwards? What if he thought he’d won, and she’d lost? There were boys who thought like that.

_Not him_ , some logical part of her mind reassured her. Had he ever held anything against her? He’d been insufferable, yes—but he’d been insufferable in ways that made her laugh, made her poke at him, made her like him more, not less.

“Promise not to get big-headed after this,” she whispered. His hands were brands on her hips, keeping her close. She didn’t think he was aware how tightly he was gripping; if he’d held a normal girl, she might have cried out in pain.

She’d make a joke about that someday—that they were Super-compatible, or something. One day, not now.

“Aren’t I already big-headed?” he asked, voice uneven. His face was tilted down, his eyes searching hers.

“This big-headed is okay,” she told him. “Just not more.”

“Can’t promise—”

Again she interrupted, this time by rising onto her toes and meeting his waiting lips with her own. His embrace was immediate, arms folding around her to crush her into him. It wasn’t anything like their first three kisses, which were by necessity—twice—and accident—once. Then, she hadn’t slid her hands into his hair, or pressed up against him with all the considerable force she could muster. He stood his ground, her only suitable counterweight.

Hadn’t it always been like that? A perfect balance?

Still, though his body responded eagerly, his mouth remained primly closed, as if he wasn’t sure how to kiss back. She licked the seam of his lips, kissed him harder when his mouth opened in response.

His helpless little exhalation shaved years off her life. She kept the contact for a moment longer, revelling in his cautious response to her exploration. He was all heat and tension, moulding to her the way he always had, and she worried her heart would burst if she kept this up. When she drew back it was to collapse against him, pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Two years is a long time,” she told him, barely recognising her own voice.

He was silent, his hold tight. She felt him plant his face in her hair; it tickled.

“Are you sniffing me?” she whispered after a moment.

“Mm.”

She poked him in the shoulder, the only place she could reach with her arms still around his neck. “You’re not really a cat, you know.” She might not object to the strange treatment if it didn’t tickle so much…

“Cats have the right idea most of the time. Plus, they’re very loyal.”

That wasn’t anything she’d heard. “Are they?”

“Well,” he said, and his tone said he’d lured her into providing the set-up for his joke. “This one is.”

She groaned softly, but couldn’t bring herself to push him away. He was still rubbing his face in her hair. _Ridiculous_ , she thought, not moving.

Eventually he drew back of his own accord. He caressed her face with his gloved hand, which would have been more romantic if the material of his suit wasn’t so grippy. His fingers couldn’t glide along her skin; they could only touch very softly.

He opened his mouth, and suddenly she remembered one of the things she’d resolved to say to him on the night of his interview with Alya.

“Wait!” she said, not wanting the thought derailed. “I’ve been meaning to tell you: I can take care of myself.”

He cocked his head.

“Your… declaration, or whatever you’d call it, on the Ladyblog. There’s really no need. All you did was increase speculation.”

“It wasn’t an empty threat,” he said. “It was a promise.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Good luck tracking down internet trolls, and anyway—”

He held a finger up to her mouth. “May I speak now, my lady?”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“May I call upon you again?”

“Call…?”

“My courtship has produced positive results. I must continue it.”

“Your _courtship_?” Really, he was the most ridiculous person in Paris. In what world was his incessant joking a courtship? Then: “Positive results?”

He nodded. “You flinging yourself at me is very positive. You are welcome to do so any time you wish.” His eyes were twinkling.

“If you get smug about it, I won’t,” she told him, stepping back so she could meet his gaze loftily.

He lifted her hands. “ _Please_ may I call on you again?”

“This isn’t the eighteenth century,” she informed him. “But yes. Of course you can, silly cat.”

“Then…” He dropped her hands, fiddling with something at his waist. He produced a phone. “For when you’re not in disguise.”

She took the phone from him, wondering where he’d stashed it. Hidden pockets in his suit? Best not to think about that. She went to contacts and found only one, solitary contact: **Prince Charming** , followed by a cat emoji.

Charming, hm?

“So when you say call _on_ me, you mean can you call me?” she asked sardonically.

He grinned. “Among other things. Mon amour, would you say we are… exclusive?”

Her brows shot up, realising suddenly that while _she_ was perpetually single, that didn’t mean he was. She fought not to get embarrassed in front of him, her mouth opening and closing on several blustering statements she eventually dismissed.

Insecurity crept into his features. “I mean—I hoped—perhaps—is it too soon? To say?”

Seeing him floundering put an end to her own anxiety. She folded her arms and tried to look imposing. “You may continue your courtship, kitty, and I shall decline all other suits.” She peeked at him, seeing the delight in his expression. “For now.”

He kissed her hand. “You won’t regret it.”

She kept hold of his hand when he would have let go, bowing over it in imitation of his usual behaviour. She brushed her lips against the back of his hand and gazed at him over it. “I hope not, my overlarge kitten.”

He flushed endearingly.

She let go of him at last and rose on her tiptoes again, this time to press a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth.

“I should go,” she said. He turned just slightly to nuzzle her face as she passed him by, and she shivered involuntarily. They were in unfamiliar territory now; fistbumping had always been so _easy_. Why had she never appreciated it? And yet, the shivery anticipation in her stomach wasn’t unwelcome. She kept a tight grip on her new phone.

“Good night, Chat.”

She heard the smile in his voice even with her back to him. “Good night, mon amour.”

“Not my lady?” she called over her shoulder.

“That as well, of course. Always.”

She grinned as she swung away. If she swung fast enough, she thought, she might keep abreast of any second thoughts. For now she wanted only to enjoy the butterflies in her stomach and the memory of Chat’s arms around her, implanting a heat that lasted long after he was gone. She wouldn’t think of what came next—for now.


	4. Closet space

Adrien was in a haze. He went home. He slept. He ate breakfast.

He wondered if a stray beam had bludgeoned him and sent him straight to heaven.

But no: the prepaid phone he’d bought for Ladybug was gone from his room, and if he could just bring himself to text or call it, he’d know for sure he wasn’t dreaming. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t called yet, because he feared that confirmation.

He looked at the one contact in his second phone, cheerful with its ladybug emoji. He could call and hear her voice, and maybe she’d even be happy to hear from him. It was an absurd thought, yet somehow the truth.

“Earth to Adrien,” Plagg said, in the voice of someone who’d been trying to be heard for a while. “The phone will not perform for you no matter how much you will it.”

“Jupiter to Plagg,” Adrien sighed back. “The atmosphere here is just great. Cloudless skies and sunshine.”

Plagg made a noise of great discontent. “You and I both know you’d die if you were on Jupiter, crushed by its enormous gravity. Plus, there’s that constant storm, not sunny skies at all. Ugh, listen to me! Listen to the things you’ve made me know!”

Adrien was unaffected by Plagg’s distress.

“She likes me back,” he told him. “She’ll decline all other suits.”

“She likes _us_ back,” Plagg said, just to be mean. “What does she think of Adrien?”

Adrien waved him and his negativity away. He wouldn’t let doubts like that bring him down. She liked Chat; Adrien couldn’t be so different. And besides, he didn’t even know if she’d ever want to know who he was behind the mask. It was enough for now that she liked the masked version of him enough to—enough to—

His face burned in memory. He’d been so scared of messing up, of being bad at kissing, but he couldn’t change a thing during the kiss. There had been plenty of spare knowledge in the back of his mind—not too much tongue, don’t drool, provide enough pressure—but it had been totally inaccessible in the heat of Ladybug’s mouth on his, the soft give of her breasts against his chest, the scent of her skin. His mind had spun in furious circles, his body filling with bliss, and if she’d stepped back and proclaimed him the worst kisser ever she would have been well within her right to do so.

She hadn’t done that, though. She’d stayed in the circle of his arms and let him cling to her. She hadn’t seemed the least bit disappointed in his kissing, and it had made him giddy enough to ask her out, though not giddy enough to simply ask ‘are we dating now?’

God, he was bad at romance. But then, falling in love with a masked superhero at age fourteen and remaining steadfastly loyal to said hero didn’t leave much space for romantic development. He didn’t feel like he was missing out, all those years; he knew what he wanted.

“I’m going to text her,” he told Plagg, who was languishing somewhere else on the bed, probably bemoaning his lot in life.

A tiny paw flapped at Adrien. “Do as you wish, human.”

**Good morning** , he sent, following it up with a heart-eyed cat emoji. When the text sent, he instantly regretted it. There was nothing there for her to _respond_ to—he should have asked her something—he’d never be a great texter—he grabbed his other phone and opened his conversation with Nino.

**Hypothetical question** , Adrien sent, knowing Nino wouldn’t take it as such. **What should you text to the girl you like? And what should you not text? How do you text with people?**

Nino called back instantly.

“Dude!” he said. “Did you disappear with a girl last night? That’s why you left in such a rush?”

“No!” Adrien said. “Nothing like that. Just… what do I send, Nino?”

Nino laughed. “I’m guessing I don’t have to tell you not to send dick pics.”

“Dick pics?”

“Are you really asking me what they are? The name is self-explanatory. Anyway, who is she?”

Adrien bit his lip, beginning to regret involving Nino. Still, he had plenty of experience lying about these things. “I can’t say, Nino. I’m sorry. She’s—” stroke of genius “—another high-profile person, and I don’t want anyone linking our names.”

“You can’t even tell me?”

“I would if I could.”

Nino sighed. “What’s she like?”

“Clever, confident, funny.”

“What are her hobbies?”

_Fighting crime_. “She’s, uh, athletic?”

Nino laughed. “You don’t know? Ask her!”

“I will,” Adrien said, not getting into the I-can’t-ask-too-many-personal-questions thing with Nino. “What else?”

“Well, what does she like about you?”

Adrien stared into space. What did she like about him? She liked his ability to back her up in a tight spot. She liked joking with him. Given her actions yesterday, he thought she probably liked his looks. He writhed around on the bed, unsure.

“She likes… various things,” he said. “This was a bad idea, I’m sorry, Nino, I’ll hang up—”

“Adrien. I’m going to be very clear for a moment. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“There isn’t a girl on this planet who wouldn’t be lucky to have you. You’re a model. A smart model. You’re even funny sometimes. Provided she’s into guys at all, you’re fine.”

Adrien wasn’t so sure about that. “Easy for you to say.”

“I had to psych myself up for it, actually. If only you could see how depressing it is to compliment someone so perfect. You’re lucky I like you.”

“I am,” Adrien said, ignoring the perfect comment. “Thanks, Nino. You’re the best.”

“If you’re trying to drag more compliments outta me, I refuse. That was enough for one day.”

Adrien laughed. “I’ll savour them. Good luck this afternoon at the recording thing.”

“Thanks. Later!”

They hung up, and Adrien returned to his other phone. Ladybug had already texted back, laying many fears to rest in one fell swoop.

**Good morning** , followed by the ladybug emoji, then: **This is the only one I have. There are so many cat ones… it’s not fair**.

**An injustice even Ladybug can’t fight** , Adrien sent back, grinning. It was strange being Adrien and texting as Chat.

**Says who?** she fired back. It was the perfect response. She was perfect. He was possibly biased.

**Even by written medium, I adore you** , he sent, because it wasn’t like he was keeping it a secret.

**You could just say ‘over text’, kitty. What are you going to do today?**

**Think about you**.

Would she groan? Blush? Chuck her phone away?

**Do something useful instead** , she sent, after a long silence.

He sent back a cat emoji, and resolved to actually follow her advice. Useful… useful… useful, like trying to come up with possible ways for them to be together with their identities intact? That sounded useful to him—and immediately sent his thoughts to a warm, embarrassing place they had no business being in yet.

_Don’t think about meeting her in a pitch-black room_ , he commanded himself—but the thought lodged itself in his mind. It was compelling, yeah, but was it feasible?

_Why wouldn’t it be?_

He got out of bed, beginning to pace. A pitch-black date location? It removed so many options, unless they both got very good at stumbling around in the dark. No movies, no candlelit dinner… were there any games you could play in the dark? Hide and seek? Touch and tell? He despaired of creating any sort of romantic atmosphere with those.

But even if they simply talked, like they always did, wouldn’t it be nice to touch her with his bare hands while they did so? Even if it was just to hold her hand.

He pressed fingers to his temples. Guys his age were not meant to get this excited about holding hands, but holding any part of her without either of them in disguise would be a dream come true. He’d research it, at the very least.

He didn’t know the opportunity would come sooner than expected—and by no design of his own.

 

* * *

 

 

The next night, patrols took a turn for the worse. Instead of the usual trouble—people making nuisances of themselves on the street, fights to break up—Ladybug got a call on the device she normally used to contact him. Adrien hadn’t known it was multi-functional until then, and he watched her take the call with interest.

It was Chloe’s dad, the former mayor, talking about a tense situation in the hotel. When interrogated further, the tense situation turned out to be a hostage situation.

Perhaps Adrien was dramatic, but he would have used a word other than tense.

“Shouldn’t you contact the police?” Ladybug asked, unsure for once. Adrien’s brows rose behind his mask. Ladybug, worried?

“I’m anxious,” the former mayor confided. “You two always manage to resolve things so peacefully…”

“We’ll come and see,” Ladybug promised, ending the call. She looked at Adrien, obviously expecting a response.

“Eh—you can do it?” he offered, supplying a halfhearted thumbs-up. Why did she look so scared?

“I’m not trained for stuff like that,” she said. “Police officers are, aren’t they? There’s special people for it—negotiators, or something. I’ve seen it on TV.”

“We’ve been in plenty of hostage situations.”

“ _Akuma_ hostage situations.”

“What’s the difference?”

“We’re a balance, right? You and me? And there are other Miraculous users, with other powers.”

Adrien nodded.

“So what if our powers are only to keep the others like us in check? What if they don’t work against a normal opponent? I don’t mean my yoyo—we know that works—but can I summon a charm? Can I undo whatever happened while we were fighting someone, if that someone isn’t an out-of-control magic user?”

He caught on at long last. “What if someone is seriously hurt, and you can’t undo it,” he said, guessing her hang-up now. He folded his arms.

“I’ve never tried to use a lucky charm in a situation like that, where people might get hurt but no one’s corrupted.”

“Have you asked your kwami?”

“She says she doesn’t know. It might work, or it might not. Could… could it bring someone back from the dead?”

Adrien shivered, perturbed. They’d always managed to keep things from going that far, but she was right to be cautious. The power of creation, his own power’s opposite… no wonder Papillon had been so determined to have it. What if her power _could_ bring back the dead? He swallowed hard.

“We’ll go and see,” he said. “If it seems like something beyond our expertise, we call the police.”

“No ‘you can do anything you put your mind to, my lady’?”

He grinned. “That’s what I’m thinking, of course.”

They left to go to the grand hotel and were soon ushered in by Monsieur Bourgeois himself. He’d aged well, though his skin looked grey now.

“Upstairs suite,” he said, voice a pitch or two too high. “He has demands, and about a dozen hostages. We’ve brought him cake, and crème brûlee, like he demanded—”

Adrien and Ladybug exchanged a look. Villain with a sweet tooth? It’d be charming if the situation wasn’t so dire.

“—but he wants to see one of the chefs, his ex-girlfriend, and she won’t go, and I’m not sure what to do…”

Ladybug’s expression was filled with disgust at the bring-me-my-ex-girlfriend demand, but Adrien watched her change it through sheer force of will before responding. “Leave it to us,” she told the former mayor with confidence, patting him on the shoulder. He looked unoffended by the casual treatment, directing them to the floor.

“Anything you need…” he said as the elevator doors closed. “Just let us know.”

“Of course,” Ladybug said. “Can you get the chef to come talk to us about him? We won’t let him have her, of course.”

Monsieur Bourgeois nodded several times fast as the doors closed. Ladybug sighed in the sudden silence.

“Just because the villain’s pathetic doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous,” she said softly, as if she was reminding herself. She was looking at the ceiling, but her eyes caught Adrien’s a moment later. “Maybe you could throw your voice and pretend to be the girlfriend.”

He laughed. “For you, anything.”

Their shared look lasted a moment longer, broke as they both looked away fast, then resumed. Sparks of nervousness fizzed in Adrien’s chest, but he held a gloved hand out to bump hers, and she hooked her finger around his pinky in a small but obvious gesture of affection. He felt greatly cheered.

Their hands dropped as they stepped out into a sumptuous hallway a moment later, very familiar from their days of akuma-hunting. A floral perfume didn’t quite mask the scent of cleaners and polish. To Adrien’s transformation-heightened senses, the upper floors of the hotel were always a little overwhelming, stuffed with scents and decorated in luxurious red and gold.

“Bonjour,” Ladybug called through the door of the hostage-taker’s suite when they got there. There was no peephole, thankfully. “I’m Madame—” she thought for a moment; her eyes caught on a lamp “—Lumière. Monsieur Bourgeois would like to know if there’s anything else you need.”

Adrien clutched hands over his mouth, stifling laughter. Madame Lumière? She’d jumped right into it despite her earlier reservations. God, he loved her. She made a be-quiet gesture in his direction and he saluted.

“You know what I want!” a man cried from inside. “I want my girlfriend!”

“Monsieur, I know any girlfriend of yours would be a lot happier to see you after you stopped holding people hostage.” Ladybug’s voice was reasonable.

“I’m not stupid!” the man replied, and his pitch changed threateningly. There was a little scream from one of the hostages; Ladybug tensed.

“Sorry, Monsieur,” she said. “What can I call you, while we sort this out?”

He hesitated, then: “Ben.”

“Okay. Monsieur Ben.”

“Just Ben.”

“Okay, Ben. You haven’t hurt anyone, have you?”

“I have a gun!”

“Yes—but you haven’t hurt anyone?”

“No…”

Adrien wondered if he was meant to be doing something. Just then, someone else emerged at the bottom of the hall: the chef. She stood stoop-shouldered, hands clutched together tightly. He left Ladybug at the door in favour of talking to this harried woman.

“Sorry for involving you,” he said by way of greeting. He bowed slightly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m—”

“Chat Noir, yes, my son is quite a fan of yours.” She smiled wryly. “So I hope you’re not planning to send me in to be with that madman, because my son would feel so betrayed.”

“Of course not! We just want to know—what’s he like? What do _you_ think we should do? Will he really hurt people?”

The humour in her face faded. “I think he might hurt me, if I went in. Others… I don’t know. I wouldn’t have thought so, but I didn’t see this coming either.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know him that well now. I haven’t seen him in three years. With reason.”

Adrien folded his arms. He wondered…

“Would you be willing to talk to him by phone, just for a little while? As a distraction?”

“If I’m on a completely different floor, yes.”

Adrien nodded. “Thank you, Madame Chef. We will remove this stressor as swiftly as we can. May I have your number?”

She nodded, and he copied her number into his phone. She left, and Adrien was free to rejoin Ladybug, who looked at him rather helplessly.

“Any luck?” she whispered.

“She’ll talk with him over the phone. She says this behaviour is unexpected but she doesn’t really know him.” He shrugged. “Plan?”

Her expression turned inward for a moment, considering, then she nodded. Her voice stayed low as she explained. “I’ll stay here and let him talk to her on the phone through the door. You circle around and enter the room through a window if you can—or should I do that part? It might be easier for me—”

“He trusts Madame Lumière,” Adrien whispered. In fact, the man was yelling at her confidingly, railing about past injustices. Apparently this wasn’t his first attempt to get close to his “girlfriend”, but it was his most dramatic one to date.

“You’re right. So: you circle, and surprise him. Or if he’s standing very close to the door, and not aiming at anyone… yodel, or something, and I’ll open the door fast.”

He smiled at the familiar feeling of storming a villain’s stronghold with her. He could see a million ways this could go wrong, but they were good at coming up with things on the fly.

“Do I get a kiss for good luck?” he asked, widening his eyes innocently.

She kissed her fingers and pressed them to his cheek, which should have been a letdown, but something about the gesture set his heart hammering. Maybe it was just the look of challenge that accompanied it that weakened his knees.

Shaky knees or not, he took off at some speed. He heard the start of their conversation: “Ben—we’ve been able to contact your girlfriend. We have her on the phone. I can’t give it to you, but you can speak through the door, all right?”

Ben’s answer was too soft for Adrien to hear, and he had other things to think about anyway—things such as how to navigate the hotel’s exterior with just his usual tools, and how to pinpoint where the suite was from outside. He had no doubt he could manage it, though. These were old tricks, and energy hummed through his veins, his changed body responding perfectly, reflexes honed, instincts perfect.

He was up by a suite window in no time, looking in. The scene inside was fairly calm. The man stood next to the door, rapt with attention, but periodically he held up his firearm to warn his hostages back. They didn’t need a lot of encouragement; the ten hostages—composed of hotel staff and guests—held each other or sat quietly, many avoiding looking at their captor. One of the hostages spotted him outside the window, masked and watching, and Adrien held up a finger.

The hostage looked away quickly. _Smart man_.

If he’d been a real cat, he might have flicked his tail contentedly after assessing the situation and settling on a course of action; as it was, he simply made his way to one of two open windows and crawled in, silent as a mouse. Ben was too distracted to notice, and the other hostages made a big show of not looking. It was almost too easy, but then, things were often easy before they went horribly wrong.

He took cover behind a couch, crawled, peered out. Did Ladybug really mean _yodel_ when she said yodel? He didn’t know how to yodel, and he was at least eighty percent sure she was kidding. But if she opened the door with enough force, she was sure to—

Ah. The latch was locked, keeping the door firmly shut. Ladybug could probably exert enough strength to break that latch, but the trajectory of the door was unpredictable. They were trying to keep everyone unharmed.

So it was up to Adrien, then. The cat of the hour… he smiled, only half wishing Ladybug was on this side of the door. Working in tandem with Ladybug made the stuff he did by himself feel empty, but if she was always there helping he’d never have a chance to impress her.

He peeked out at Ben again—just as Ben scanned the room. Ben’s eyes were—naturally—drawn to the unexpected movement of Adrien behind the couch. _Shit_. There was no time to think. He’d been spotted, and Ben was about to raise his gun. Adrien needed to not be near any of the hostages, and there were two on the couch he hid behind and two between him and Ben.

Adrien raced forward, getting to Ben when the gun was half-raised. He was under Ben’s guard before he could fire, but Ben’s hand was still on the trigger. Adrien grabbed Ben’s arm, trying to wrench it down, and a shot went off. It made Adrien’s blood run cold, but he didn’t let it distract him.

He broke Ben’s arm in his rush to keep another shot from going off; he heard the crunch of bone. Next he broke the gun with his superhuman strength, not knowing how to disarm it.

There was a loud crash, and Adrien was knocked back. Ladybug stood in the doorway. Her eyes found his.

“Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” he said, turning. “But there was a shot—”

There: the hostages had all started moving towards a central point, and the central point was an old woman sitting on the floor, held up by another woman.

_Don’t be dead,_ Adrien begged silently. _Oh god, don’t be dead_.

He heard Ladybug call for a charm, and saw a flash of light. It worked, then. He didn’t turn to look. He simply sat next to the injured woman, and saw with relief that she was very much alive and clutching her knee. The other woman held her hands over the injured woman’s calf.

“Will she be all right?” he asked, his voice very small. So this was the fear Ladybug had felt. It was strange. He’d thought they’d be immune from any of this happening, somehow. He’d thought something was protecting them both; they were so perfectly made to face their foes before.

Ladybug’s concerns from earlier took on new meaning.

“It just grazed me,” the injured woman said. “Hurt like hell, but you’re all making a fuss.”

“I’m sorry,” Adrien said. It felt like his voice came from the bottom of his being, the soles of his feet. He was ashamed at his earlier levity.

“Don’t be sorry,” the woman told him. She was grey-haired and wrinkled—a kind grandma. He’d nearly gotten a kind grandma killed. She grinned in a very un-grandma-like fashion. “Just be a little faster next time.”

“I will be! Ladybug—”

He turned, and saw her gripping a red polka-dotted cloth. She offered it to the woman helping. “This might be useless, but would you hold it to the wound?”

The woman accepted it, and Ladybug raced back over to Ben, who was groaning on the floor. Adrien realised he should have made sure Ben was completely disarmed instead of just broken-armed before rushing over to the wounded woman, but it was too late now. His mistake hadn’t gotten anyone killed, at least.

The interim nurse pressed the polka dotted cloth to the wound, and it seemed to work just as any cloth would.

“You’re sure it’s just a graze?” he asked Kind-Grandma.

“Well, I’ll tell everyone it’s a battle scar,” she said, and winked. Adrien grinned almost despite himself. “But yes. Everything’s fine, little one.”

His eyes flew open. “ _Little one?_ ”

She patted his head. “You’re so young. Enjoy it.”

“Excuse my mother,” the nurse said, seeming to have calmed down a great deal since the first frantic, white-knuckled moments. There was no mistaking the relief in her face. “She loves a chance to lecture.”

Adrien watched the older woman, impressed. It wasn’t that she enjoyed the limelight, he thought. He saw the strain in her face. She was in real pain, and she’d felt real fear, but being flippant about things would set her daughter—and everyone else—at ease.

She was amazing.

A stretcher arrived soon after, and Adrien’s new hero was loaded onto it. He kissed her hand, and she chortled.

“You’ll do,” she said as she was taken away by grim-faced hotel staff. She threw the lucky charm in the air as she went, in a fair imitation of Ladybug. Ben’s exit was less heroic; he went with security, cuffed despite his lack of resistance. The room cleared, and the mayor came up to thank them personally, telling them to take all the time they needed. Room service would be on him, and he’d make sure the man was taken to the police.

Adrien could see Ladybug didn’t like to be thanked for a job badly done. She didn’t have to pretend confidence for long; soon the door closed behind the mayor.

“My time’s up,” she said. She threw up the discarded charm; it disappeared in a shower of sparks, but didn’t seem to do anything. “You should—leave.”

A lump lodged in Adrien’s throat. He was so close. All he had to do was stay, and he’d know. The decision would be made for them. Again and again, he’d decided against this course of action.

But Ladybug liked him back. Didn’t that mean…

“Now, Chat.”

He needed to move. She trusted him; he had to earn it. He stood, but apparently he’d taken too long. She looked around frantically, obviously deciding to take matters into her own hands. She darted towards a walk-in closet, closing the door behind herself—and he saw a flash of light from under the door. His heart hammered.

“My apologies, my lady. I seem to be stunned.”

“You’re losing your touch,” the girl in the walk-in closet who was Ladybug but also not Ladybug called. “You’re meant to say you were stunned by my beauty.”

“That was implied.” He pressed a hand over his chest, wanting to calm his hammering heart. He looked around the room, seeing the thick curtains hung up along the windowed wall. He closed them experimentally.

The room was plunged into darkness, enough to make his night vision as Chat a real boon. There were still sources of light: a clock, a power strip, something in the open bathroom. He unplugged everything giving off light.

Was it pitch-dark? He couldn’t tell; he could see still, as Chat Noir. It was one of his powers.

“Ladybug, I’ll close my eyes, so can you peek out for a moment?” He turned his back, sat down.

“And do what?” she asked, but she was already opening the door, trusting him to keep his word. He stayed where he was, eyes closed. “It’s… dark.”

“Is it pitch-dark?”

“Hm… no. Not quite, probably.”

He sighed. It had been a stupid idea anyway.

Her voice was very tentative. “Inside the closet is totally black, though.”

He nearly turned at that, wanting to rush to her side, hold her. He gripped his knees hard. “Will you go back in, and close your eyes?”

She could say no. Perhaps she didn’t want to. Why would she?

She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

There was a sound of the door closing, and Adrien transformed back to himself, losing his night vision, his full-body covering. He felt air move against the hairs on his arms, sensitised to all the things he couldn’t feel as Chat Noir. His skin felt wrong, almost, like it was something new he had to get used to. He knew it was just nerves. With his heart in his throat, he walked to the door of the closet. He found the knob by touch and twisted it, closing his eyes as he opened it. He entered, closed the door behind him.

The silence was palpable. He opened his eyes and it made no difference; they were in utter darkness. Was she waiting for him to say something? He couldn’t; his heart was still in his throat.

He took a step, arms out. Another—he felt warm skin; she jumped. He’d touched her arm.

“Hi,” he said in a rush, worried that he was making her nervous. He tried to think of something clever to say, but all his brain cells had taken leave when he closed the door behind him. “It appears the light you give off is purely metaphorical, my lady.”

She let out a soft breath, halfway to a laugh, and moved. She caught his hand and reached for his other one. He held it out to her, and after moments of fumbling she managed to find it, though there was a trail of fire where she’d patted along his forearm and wrist looking for it.

“I think it’s rather fortunate I don’t give off light just now,” she said. “Don’t you think so, kitty?”

Shivers raced up and down his spine, but as much as he wanted to step forward and embrace her, there was still something to discuss. He ducked his head, took a breath.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

She made a small sound—noncommittal. “Maybe. Yes. No. I’m worried. I don’t think we should take cases like this, not when we’re working them solo. I’ve helped the police before, but taking their job over…”

“It’s not what we’re here for,” he finished.

“No. Our powers were given to us with a specific purpose, and we seem to have fulfilled that. It’s not wrong to use them for good, but we can’t get too full of ourselves.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m already there.”

Her hands pressed his, and he thought he heard a smile in her voice. “Well, _I_ can’t let us act on that ego, then.”

“So responsible,” he murmured. There would be more to say on the subject, later, but the mood had shifted. Her hands were warm in his. He was leaning in when a small voice outside the closet made him jump.

“Who’s there?” he gasped.

Ladybug laughed. “Our kwamis, I think. Tikki slipped out when I checked the bedroom. I’m not sure, but I think she winked at me.”

And Plagg had stayed out there too? It seemed impossible; Adrien couldn’t believe Plagg had been that considerate. He loosed a hand from Ladybug’s grip to feel around his pockets, searching for his constant companion slash biggest critic, but Plagg wasn’t hiding anywhere. _Wow_. Actual privacy—how novel.

How terrifying.

Suddenly, Plagg’s voice came back to him: _she likes_ us. Who was Adrien without Plagg? Not Chat Noir, and Ladybug had fallen for Chat Noir. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit—

A hand in his face provided a good distraction from oncoming panic. A laugh burst from him as she felt around, nearly poking him in the eye. Once she’d mapped out his face, though, her hand became tender, caressing his cheek.

“Sorry,” she said. “Did I poke you?”                                                                      

“Don’t worry, my lady.” He turned his face into her palm, pressing a kiss to it. “Being poked in the eye by you is an honour.”

He could just feel a shiver go through her, much like his own shivers at her touch, but his lady was indefatigable and not to be defeated by measly shivers; she began to pat his neck, his collarbones, and he trembled under her touch. He was fully clothed, but his T-shirt felt paper-thin as she traced a line from his collarbones to his shoulders.

“It’s strange,” she said, and she’d have to clarify, because everything about this moment was strange. Amazing and something he’d remember forever, yes, but strange, too.

“What is?”

“I don’t think I ever imagine you as fully human. The thought that you have a life I know nothing about—it’s disturbing, almost. It makes you seem so…”

“Real?” he guessed.

“Vulnerable.”

He breathed in surprise, stunned, as if her words made it true. He felt vulnerable—terribly so. But not because he was human. “Are you worried about protecting me?”

“Yes.”

He gathered up her hands and stepped forward, leaning down so their foreheads bumped. “Not your job, my lady. My job.”

“We take care of each other,” she said. “That’s the way it’s always been.”

He wanted it to be like that forever. The way it always was, the way it always would be. Hopefully.

“Just say the word,” he said, hands tight around hers. “I’d tell you anything you wanted to know.”

There was a long moment in which he almost expected her to ask for his identity. It was scary. His name was at the tip of his tongue, but the thought of uttering it—of laying himself bare—filled him with trepidation. Was he enough? Was timid, go-with-the-flow, struggle-to-say-no-to-dad Adrien really the kind of person who could hold Ladybug’s attention?

“Not yet,” she whispered.

His breath whooshed out, in relief or disappointment, he wasn’t sure. He found her face and held it in his hands, letting his thumbs skim her cheekbones—mask-free.

“In that case, my lips are sealed.”


	5. One, two, three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since rereading my own writing in preparation for posting a chapter has made me this nervous... I apologise in advance! Thank you for reading. c:
> 
> (PS: this chapter ends in an asshole spot, but it was getting too long, and people on twitter said it was okay. Blame them! Or... or blame me...)

Marinette’s knees were going to give out at any moment. She would brace herself for it, but she didn’t trust any of her limbs to do as she asked; they were too filled with Chat-induced fluttering. He was so close, here in the dark with her, in a closet of all places. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she’d had a fantasy like this about Adrien once or twice in the past—about being put into a closet with him as part of some adolescent ritual she’d seen on American TV: however-many minutes in heaven. She felt no less giddy than she would have a few years ago in a closet with Adrien.

This wasn’t Adrien, but he produced the same feelings in her that Adrien used to, and her stomach was filled with decidedly non-evil butterflies. Even the shape of his collarbones was sexy. How could collarbones be sexy?

“If we’re staying in here for a while, can we sit down?” she tried, annoyed at how breathless she sounded. He was still holding her face, still leaning into her. She was going to faint, and she’d never live it down. _Remember that time you fainted from being so close to me, my lady? Good times…_

“Yes,” Chat said, sounding relieved, and they maneuvered into a sitting position together. Their legs got in the way; it wasn’t at all intimate to sit with their knees drawn up opposite each other, and they fumbled to fix it. Eventually they settled into a pose that involved Chat’s bent legs on either side of her and hers on either side of him, thighs touching. It was more intimate than any pose they might have chosen if they could see, but with their senses reduced it seemed right to stay close.

The dark was a good excuse for closeness.

Chat’s hand patted her leg, feeling along her knee, her calf. He reached behind himself to pat her foot. She blushed, anticipating what he would say.

“Is it me, or are you wearing slippers?”

Marinette cleared her throat. “I was working on my project all day today. I… forgot to get dressed, and it’s not like it matters usually. I didn’t expect this to happen.”

He patted her fluffy slippers, then ran his hand back up her leg—which was bare, thanks to the season. She was wearing her pajama shorts—a scandalous state of undress—but with his hand rubbing her calf and knee, she couldn’t regret it. The press of his palm made her entire body fill with restless warmth; she wanted to pull him close and hold on, wrap all her limbs around him. It would be too much too soon, but she wanted to.

In an effort to distract herself from the boy who was Chat rubbing his palm over her bare leg, she did some questing of her own. She patted his legs; he was wearing jeans, despite the season. He lived in a place with air conditioning, then, probably. His shoes were trainers, possibly expensive ones given the markings on the sides. She let her hands move up, above her own legs, to touch his stomach and chest and arms. His T-shirt was soft cotton, deliciously thin. She could have run her hands over him endlessly, but his breathing suggested it was making him nervous.

Perhaps nervous wasn’t the right word. She was aroused. Was he?

She was fairly sure he was, and it only made matters worse. Their hands caught again, as if by mutual agreement, and they sat in silence for a long while.

“I never imagined this,” he said haltingly.

Marinette’s stomach was ticklish with butterflies. “You suggested it.”

“I wanted to touch you.”

She smiled. “Congratulations. You succeeded.”

His voice was tinged with beautiful disbelief. “I know.”

“Kitty…”

His hands retracted. To cover his face, she thought, but she couldn’t be sure. “Mm?”

Yes—his voice was muffled. He was hiding his face, even in the dark. The thought of that was melt-worthy. A shy side to Chat? Then again, this was the boy behind the mask. Perhaps he was shy through and through, the way she was clumsy when she wasn’t Ladybug.

She swallowed, or tried to. Her throat felt dry. “Can I kiss you?” she asked.

Audible, fast breathing. Chat would joke. He would joke, he would—but this unknown boy simply sighed “yes”, and it only made Marinette love him more. She leaned forward and found him, moved her hands up into his hair and brushed her mouth against his softly, feeling his breath on her face. His mouth was open when she pressed her lips against it, and she took it as invitation, slotting her mouth to his, tasting him.

Somehow, almost immediately, she was being pulled in close, allowing the kiss to deepen. His arms snaked around her back, and if he’d been shy earlier, it wasn’t for lack of passion. Their teeth clacked together as she settled into his lap, pulled there decisively, but a joint puff of breath acknowledged the accident, making it a moment of shared humour within a larger moment of mutual need. He didn’t whimper when she pulled his hair; she didn’t whimper when he crushed her to him, his hands burning hot.

The closeness of the space forced them to slow down eventually, as the heat rising in their dark little world became stifling. It didn’t end the kiss; instead the kiss turned tender, soft, slow. This felt like a first kiss almost more than their first kiss had, all tentative gentleness, hands gentle and caressing.

“I love you,” Chat whispered, earnest, on an exhale. It was completely unexpected, and Marinette shivered at his intensity.

“Aren’t you meant to wait with the big confessions, kitty?” Her voice trembled.

“No point. You know. You—you do know, don’t you?”

She caressed his cheek. Had she felt the skin of his cheek before, in their years together as teens? If she had, it wasn’t boyishly soft anymore; he’d grown up while she lived her own life.

“I know you admire Ladybug,” she said. It was easier to believe in her own, all-encompassing love—a love that could include even the secret presence behind Chat Noir, without knowing it—than it was to believe in his adoration.

“I love all of you,” he said, echoing her thoughts. “I don’t have to know exactly who you are.”

“What if I’m someone you know and hate in our other life?”

His forehead bumped hers. “I’ve considered that. But… if you’re someone I hate, without the mask, and someone I love with it, then obviously I’ve misjudged you.”

“Which part of me?” she whispered.

He sat up, adopting a lofty tone. “That question is unacceptable. Have you ever doubted my love? Of course not. I’m yours, my lady.”

She smiled. “Well, then… same. I suppose.”

His voice changed; there was a smile in it. “You’re mine?”

“Hmm. In a manner of speaking.” She couldn’t say it outright; teasing was her only option. He was still Chat.

His hand found her face again, and he leaned forward for another kiss, heartbreakingly tender. She sighed shakily when he drew back. He was making her want to throw caution to the wind; she needed to know who he was beneath the mask. The need crawled up from the pit of her stomach, clawed at her throat.

_Soon_ , she promised herself. She’d have to prepare herself somehow, though she had no idea what that entailed. She’d have to start working harder to protect her secret, at the very least. What else?

Alya. She had to tell Alya first, didn’t she?

She caught his hands again. Bigger than hers, blockier, with capable fingers. He seemed just as lost in thought as she was, but they’d have plenty of time to think later. This was their time together, the first time they could spend just as themselves, and she wouldn’t waste it.

“Question and answer time,” she said. “Opinions, not personal details. Are you ready?”

“We take turns?”

She nodded. “Yes. I get a question, then you do.”

“Hit me with your best shot, my lady. I’m ready.”

 

* * *

 

 

Marinette had walked into the hotel a mass of nerves; she came out of it floating on a purple cloud. Or, well, Ladybug swung out of it that way. She headed straight home, exhausted from the physical demands of being close to the guy she liked for hours. Taking down the hostage taker had been taxing too, she supposed, but strange as that had been it was more run of the mill than… than…

_Kissing_. And even more than that, _talking_. It had been bizarre to have leisure time with Chat, time to hold his hand and listen as he talked about his favourite movie, or what he liked to do with his free time. Part of her had expected to like him less if she knew him better; that part of her had been wrong.

Liking him this much was terrifying, but he said he loved her completely. She tried to believe that as she scanned her street and crawled in her bedroom window. She transformed back to Marinette and stifled a yawn.

“How do you feel?” Tikki asked.

“Happy. Scared. In love. Tikki, how am I meant to do this? I’m going to tell him. I am.”

Tikki nodded. “That’s okay. It was always up to you.”

Marinette smiled. “You’re too good to me.”

“Only as good as you are,” Tikki said, flying in to nuzzle her cheek. “Did you have fun?”

“Fun? I—yes. I really like him, Tikki.”

Tikki glowed, seeming pleased, and Marinette headed into the living room. Alya was out somewhere, and Marinette sent off a text asking if she was coming back tonight.

**I’ll be back for late dinner**! Alya sent, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to butter her up for the big confession. Marinette was no great cook, but she knew Alya’s favourites. If she hurried to the store, she could cook a meal worthy of her best friend—one that might make up for keeping a six-year-long secret.

Alya would understand. Wouldn’t she?                                                       

“You’re telling her tonight?” Tikki squeaked, seeming surprised. “Your life will change!”

Marinette changed quickly—shorts and a T-shirt, barely different from her pajamas, sandals instead of slippers—and headed out the door, down the stairwell. “Now that I’ve decided to tell, I can’t wait for longer. Especially not with Alya. She has a _blog_ about me!”

A guy going into the apartment below hers looked at her strangely as she speed-walked past him to the next set of stairs. She hoped he didn’t hear Tikki’s giggles.

That was all Tikki said on the matter; as she had said, she really did consider it Marinette’s decision. The trip to the store and dinner were accomplished in a frenzy of energy—and then it was time to wait. And wait. Late dinner? This was more like a late-late supper. Or did time crawl because she was tired, and nervous?

Marinette woke to Alya exclaiming about something—right. Dinner. Dinner that Marinette had lovingly prepared hours ago before falling asleep on a beanbag.

“You didn’t say you were cooking!” Alya said, amazed. “I ended up following a lead—I didn’t realise you’d wait. I’m sorry, Marinette…”

“That’s fine,” Marinette mumbled. She wiped sleep from her eyes and stood up, joining Alya, who was enthusiastically spooning mushrooms onto her plate. Alya launched into an explanation of her latest research—something to do with excess food in Paris, and new distribution services that sent it to people who needed it. It sounded like a nice article, and Marinette woke slowly to the sound of Alya’s voice, nodding in all the right places.

“How’d you know I needed a pick-me-up?” Alya asked. “I’m _exhausted_. I’ve been running around the city all day, and an evil bus driver decided to have me sprint alongside for a while before he stopped for me. I was a second late!”

Marinette grinned. She knew Alya loved the running around chasing leads part of the ‘job’, no matter how much she complained. The only part that surprised her was that Alya hadn’t taken her bicycle, but perhaps it was too hot for that, or it was too hard to lug the bicycle around on buses when she had to go far.

“I’m buttering you up,” Marinette said. “Literally and figuratively.” She gazed at the garlic mushrooms she’d prepared, which contained more butter than doctors recommended.

“Hmm, what’s this then? Are you going to tell me why you’ve been acting so strange?”

“Don’t I always act strange?”

Alya smiled. “That’s true. So what’s up?” Her eyes widened before Marinette could say a thing. “Wait—did you meet someone? Wait! Is it Adrien? Do you have something going on now? Is _that_ why you seemed so close? Holy cra—”

“No!” Marinette waved her hands. “No, nothing like that at all. Well—no. Adrien and I are friends. What I want to tell you has nothing to do with romance, but I don’t want you to freak out either. It’s big.”

Alya’s eyes were wide as saucers. “I’m ready.”

“You’re going to think I’m joking at first, but I’m not. Promise not to act like I’m joking?”

“Holy shit, Marinette. Is it legal?”

“It’s legal. I think. Uh. Okay. You know how Ladybug has kept her identity hidden? It’s because, the moment she tells someone, some of her magical disguise goes away. Until now, it’s been impossible for anyone to realise her identity, or almost-impossible, anyway, and—”

“ _Wait_. You’re saying that disguise will lift soon? How do you _know_? This is huge! I need to get organised. I can’t believe you know this stuff!”

“No, Alya—it’s… hm. Were you really hoping to be the one to find out her identity? For yourself?”

“Why do you sound so sceptical?”

Marinette rubbed her temples. “I think Ladybug wants to tell you who she is. You know—her most loyal fan. But if that’d ruin things for you…”

Alya’s mouth was open, thankfully empty of food. Her face was blank with shock; Marinette waved a hand in front of her eyes.

“ _Me?_ ” Alya said at last.

“Don’t you think you deserve it?”

“ _Deserve_? Marinette, Ladybug has saved all of us countless times! She doesn’t owe us anything. But…” Alya bit her lip. “Oh my god, it would be so amazing to know. She has a whole other life! Who is she really? Not three-thousand years old, right? Or maybe she is!”

Marinette smiled. “So that’s a ‘she should tell you’, right?”

“Right!”

Marinette took a deep breath. “Okay. In that case—and this is off the record—I’m Ladybug.”

The words felt gummy and strange in her mouth. _I’m Ladybug_. Had she ever even imagined herself saying that to Alya? No, probably not.

“You’re Ladybug’s friend?” Alya tried, brows rising.

“No. You’re Ladybug’s friend. I’m Ladybug.”

Alya continued to stare.

Marinette stood up and backed away from the table. “Tikki?” she asked, and Tikki emerged immediately. Marinette’s transformation was subdued, filled with the tension she felt at revealing this—her fear that it would break something between her and Alya—but if Chat got to know, so did her best friend. It was only fair.

Alya moved slowly, standing up from the table. “Marinette?” she said wonderingly. Her eyes were wide.

“Probably best to call me Ladybug in public when I’m like this,” Marinette said. She looked at Alya pleadingly. “Hello, Alya. I’ve wanted to tell you for a really long time. I’m really not as flaky as I seem, I promise.”

Alya dropped abruptly, sitting on her haunches. She held her head.

Marinette dropped the transformation and saw Tikki fly to the table, ready to replenish her strength. She waited for Alya to process all that she needed to process—and waited.

“You’re Ladybug,” Alya said eventually, looking up from the floor. “My best friend is Ladybug.”

“Yeah.” Marinette swallowed.

“You wanted to tell me?”

“Of course.” She kneeled, still scared Alya would start being angry, or scared, or whatever happened when people had their world turned upside down. “Please don’t hate me. You’re the first person I’ve told, and I guess the magic changes now.”

“Chat Noir doesn’t know?”

Marinette shook her head, and nearly fell back in shock at the grin that spread over Alya’s face.

“Oh, man! He was in here! With you! And he had no idea?”

“He’s seen me as Marinette lots. Never makes the connection. I told you, it’s the magic disguise. If you couldn’t figure it out, how could he?”

Alya looked at her, really looked, and Marinette tried to smile. Her insides felt quivery with fear, still pulling at her, and when Alya crawled forward on her knees Marinette wasn’t sure what was coming until arms folded around her.

Alya pulled her into a hug, her hold tight.

“You idiot,” Alya said. “You thought I’d hate you for this? I guess it’s a _little_ embarrassing that I’ve fangirled about you _to_ you for six years, but I can be the bigger person about stuff like that.”

Marinette hugged back hard.

“Damn it,” Alya said. “I can’t even write an exposé on my blog, since it’s off the record. This is ridiculous. How am I meant to maintain my friendship with you _and_ the integrity my blog?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Marinette said. “You always do.”

Alya let go, but only to look pointedly at the framed Ladybug poster on the wall. “You let me put that up,” she said.

“And what would you have said if I refused? ‘How dare you, she saved all of us a hundred times! I’m not going to share an apartment with someone who hates Ladybug!’ Yes?”

Alya started laughing, and after a moment Marinette joined in. When they sobered, Alya was watching her, head tilted.

“You have that picture in your room,” she said. “Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Marinette nodded.

“You missed him?”

“A bunch. But I couldn’t have a picture of just him up, because if he ever found out he’d be all high and mighty. ‘Pictures of me, my lady? I can’t blame you; I’m very handsome.’”

Alya cackled. “Oh, but I bet he has a whole shrine for you!”

Marinette considered that, and the thought pleased her just a little. “Well, that’s fine, because _I_ don’t let it go to my head.”

This produced a sceptical look, and they both started laughing again. Alya’s expression immediately returned to one of consideration after, though, and Marinette felt nervous again—but it was a bearable kind of nervous.

“I have a feeling I’ll wake up tomorrow and realise I dreamed this,” Alya said.

“No dream, I promise. But I’ll let you get used to the idea before the inevitable interview.”

Alya grinned.

“You can’t publish anything though! I still want to _try_ and keep who I am a secret.”

“Fine, fine. I won’t tell a soul. Until you give me permission…”

Marinette doubted she’d ever want to give that kind of confirmation. It seemed like it’d paint a big red target on her back—but she nodded anyway, and they got back to their cold dinner, Alya mostly silent as her mind worked. Tikki had obviously decided her own introduction could wait until later, hiding again, and Marinette was fine with that. She didn’t think she could handle one more reveal today; Alya’s silence was a blessing.

She’d sleep soundly tonight—if she could keep her mind off telling Chat.

 

* * *

 

 

The need to reveal who she was to Chat dimmed overnight, and as a result she didn’t tell him the next day, or the one after. It was easier to continue on as if nothing had changed, even if Chat’s glances had grown tender and his flirting was less outrageously off-putting. _If I knew that would happen_ , Marinette joked to herself, _maybe I would have dated him years ago._

She wished she knew what the right course of action was, though the first bridge had already been crossed. Alya knew, and was getting used to the idea—but Alya had known both Ladybug and Marinette, and presumably loved both. Would Chat love Marinette? What if his assurances only meant he’d _try_ to love her and end up failing?

Marinette was sticking pins into a thoroughly mistreated bust three days after her reveal to Alya when a text from Chat drew her from endless, circular rumination.

**Are you busy tonight, my lady?**

She sighed sharply, borderline annoyed at him for… existing, she supposed. Without Chat, Marinette might have fallen for a normal boy, and she could date a normal boy as _herself_ , without some big reveal. **Depends** , she sent back.

**I’d like to take you on a date**.

**Does the date involve chasing bad guys?**

**Only if you want it to.**

Marinette smiled. She could use some distraction, and maybe… well. She’d see if tonight was _the night_ , even if the words _the night_ made her feel ready to hurl with nervousness.

**I’m not busy** , she sent. It wasn’t fair to hold his superhero status against him. She’d lived a double existence too, just like him. His next text was a location and a time, and she whiled away the hours until then. Six thirty pm—dinnertime, ish. Was he really going to take her out to dinner suits and all?

She was impatient by the time she went to join him at the stated address: a rooftop, as usual. There was a storm rolling in when she left her apartment, a bank of dark clouds threatening rain and possibly thunder. Marinette tried not to see it as portent of things to come, how the day went from sweltering summer to a threatening grey as she swung along—but if the sun had hidden itself away it was only because it had taken up residence inside of her.

Chat looked nervous when she joined him, overinvested. She loved how hard he tried to hide it, and how subtly he failed. It wasn’t his fault; she could read him better than almost anyone.

“Hello, my lady,” he said, bowing over her hand. “Did you have a nice day?”

“It was fine. What do you have planned?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you. Follow me!”

She followed, watching him for clues that weren’t forthcoming. All she knew was that he wanted her to have a good time and was worried she wouldn’t.

“Did you plan the storm too?” she asked, yelling to be heard over the rush of wind.

“Atmospheric, no?”

She laughed. She loved storms, natural ones, and she hadn’t known that he did as well. It _was_ atmospheric.

He took them to a fancy-looking apartment building and brazenly walked in the propped-open roof entrance as if he had a right to be there. Did he live here? If he did, he was rich. Maybe a friend lived here, or—or someone he knew that would be out of town tonight…

“Don’t look so worried,” he said when he glanced over his shoulder in the dim hallway. “We’re not trespassing.”

She’d have to take his word for it—though he _did_ have a key to the apartment he went into, so it seemed legal.

_Unless he stole that key…_

She followed him into sumptuous apartment with wall-to-wall windows, increasingly terrified. She was used to Le Grand Paris and its luxury, but that was a hotel, and hotels were meant to be fancy. Homes were… homes. Did Chat really live here, in an expensive bachelor pad with hardwood floors and a view of the Eiffel Tower?

He caught her hands. “Why are you frowning?” he asked, brows furrowing. “I thought—the view—”

“You _live_ here?” she asked.

“No! I thought with the identity stuff homes were off-limits. I just… know the person who lives here. And she’s in Italy for a month. You mean you’d come to my house if I asked?”

The concept of this seemed to astound him for a moment longer, then he added: “No, never mind, it wouldn’t work. Anyway—here, please sit down. I arranged something just for you.”

Her brows rose as he pulled her to a large cream couch. It was set opposite a giant TV and a giant-er window, one of the large panes that spanned the wall. She cast a glance around, seeing the edge of the kitchen, and a dining table with the places already set, a single red rose in the vase at the centre of the table. The set-up was very _Chat Noir_ , somehow, but she didn’t know why he was pushing her to the couch.

“Okay, sit comfortably. Here, a blanket.” He fiddled with remotes, and the TV switched on. A moment later a plant appeared on the screen, and then—aphids.

What on earth?

He patted her shoulder. “Stay here!” he said, before running to the kitchen. She heard the hum of an extractor fan turning on.

“The ladybug is a voracious hunter…” the voice on the TV started, and Marinette burst into laughter. It was a nature documentary, then, about ladybugs. She appreciated the attention to detail, though the assumption that ladybugs were a huge area of interest for her was more or less false.

She sat back, smiling, and that was how Chat found her five minutes later when he rushed over with a wineglass filled with… sparkling apple juice, from the smell and colour of it. She inclined her head.

“Interesting wine selection.”

He grinned. “I’d say it’s because I want your complete sober attention, but that’s a lie.”

“It is?”                                                           

“Hm—have you never tried to get drunk while transformed?”

The thought was so preposterous she nearly gasped. “Inebriated Ladybug?”

He laughed. “Well, I tried. For scientific reasons. And _nothing_ gets me drunk. I could drink three bottles of vodka and walk across a tightrope if I wanted to, but I don’t, because vodka tastes horrible.”

She smiled at the image, and the fact that he’d tried. They _were_ pretty invulnerable to normal things while transformed.

“So no wine, because I didn’t know if you had a taste for it.” He fidgeted. “But if my lady wants—”

She stopped him with a finger over his mouth, standing. “None of the my lady stuff, kitty. I like everything you come up with.”

His smile was like the sun. “You do?”

She did, and it was partially because of how clearly new he was at this. She looked back at the screen and saw a ladybug larva eat an aphid. Her stomach turned just a little. “Although this is definitely going to make me lose my appetite.”

He turned it off fast, and while he was distracted she meandered to the kitchen, as if she just happened to end up there. She lifted herself onto a section of marble counter, out of the way of his cooking.

“You’re not allowed to help,” he said warningly. She motioned in acquiescence, and watched avidly when he turned his back. From the tense set of his shoulders, he knew she was watching, and it made him nervous.

That was okay. It was fun to tease him now and then. As the minutes passed, though, and the kitchen filled with delicious smells, Marinette’s impatience grew, her throat tightening at the sight of Chat’s concentration. She hopped off the counter and crept up behind him, sliding her hands around his waist. He jumped—and then he stilled, the skillet he held trembling slightly. He set it down.

“Everything will burn and overcook if you do that,” he said, voice under tight control.

“We can blame me.” She rested her head against his shoulder blade, eyes closed. Again the material of his suit annoyed her; his T-shirt had been so soft.

He let her hold him for a moment, then took her hands and turned, gently putting her aside. “No. This has to be perfect.”

She sighed at his stubbornness, caught between being touched at his perfectionism and being annoyed. She took her earlier seat on the counter, watching, thinking again of that soft T-shirt the boy beneath the mask was wearing three days ago. It had smelled nice too—a smell that begged her to come closer.

“I can’t believe Chat Noir fended me off,” she said, drawing her legs up. “My pride is gone.”

He grinned. “I will gladly massage your ego later, my lady.”

“Now works fine for me.”

The grin widened before being replaced by a considering look, and that was when the outrageous compliments began, an interrupted string of them: your hair is perfect midnight, your eyes are my personal sky, your yoyo-ing is a work of art, you are the sun, the moon…

She was covering her face in under a minute. “Stop! That’s ridiculous. You can’t believe any of that.”

“Some of it is fact. Your hair is black.” He shrugged. “You’re unbeatable with a yoyo.”

_Some of it is fact_. She liked the straightforward way he said that, without any of his usual flirting. It felt like a glimpse of the boy behind Chat, although then again, how could she know?

She could know soon, if she wanted. _Just say the word…_

Finally he plated the feast—a multicoloured pasta dish—and pushed her over to the dining table. He held out her chair, which seemed silly with both of them transformed, then lit a candle. He brought over her plate with a flourish.

“You have to appreciate how it looks,” he said. “I’m not an amazing cook.”

It _smelled_ amazing, at least. And the aesthetics of the big, spacious room and the storm rolling in outside sent a shiver down her spine. She clinked her glass to his. “Santé.”

He echoed her, drank, then squirmed, waiting for her to eat. She pushed a cherry tomato onto her fork before pausing.

“Is this your first date?” she asked.

His reaction was overblown: wide eyes, more squirming. “First… intentional date.”

She waited for him to explain, stomach tickling with amusement.

“Sometimes I’ve agreed to meet up with people, thinking it’s just a normal meet-up, and then…” He shrugged helplessly, then steadied. He propped his head on his hand, voice dropping. “But you’re the only one for me, mon amour.”

The mon amours were back, were they? She smiled and took her first bite, not telling him how endearing it was that he’d gone on _accidental_ dates before but not intentional ones.

“And you?” The nervousness was back.

She swallowed her mouthful, making sure to make an appreciative sound. It was good; less salt than she would have added, but he’d probably die if she showed signs of being dissatisfied with the food. He seemed to appreciate the sound, flushing beneath his mask.

“Two,” she said when her mouth was empty.

“Two first dates?”

“Two dates total.” She looked away as she laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “I guess we’re both hopeless.”

“Not hopeless!” he said. “Holding out.”

She wondered about that. Had she been holding out for him? She hadn’t known if he was coming back; sometimes she’d thought something had happened to him and she’d never see him again. How long would she have held out?

Thunder clapped in the distance. She gasped at the sound of it, nearly feeling the electricity of the air outside. He seemed to sense her restlessness, going over to open a window. Cold air gusted into the room, and his eyes when they met hers were gleeful.

“Smells like lightning,” he said as she joined him. He closed his eyes and inhaled, and she wanted to lean in and kiss him.

Why should she hold back?

She leaned in to kiss him, softly, and thunder underscored the gesture. When her eyes blinked open again, lightning flashed. Chat watched her, his hunger obvious. The earlier glee was gone from his face, and Marinette thought she’d remember how he looked just now forever: against a day-dark, stormy sky, mouth unsmiling.

She broke eye contact first, walking back to her chair with great reluctance. She didn’t want to insult him by ignoring the food. She ate faster than usual, and he matched her pace. Her impatience was a physical force; she needed to be with him, with _all_ of him. It was time to reveal who she was, and ask for his identity in return. How would they do it?

He jumped up the moment she finished. “Dessert!”

“No! I’m full.” _Full of nerves_.

“You can’t be full,” he said. “I planned dessert.”

She folded her arms.

“Okay, we can wait a bit. I have… playing cards, and—”

“Kitty.”

He stopped pacing.

“I… you said to say the word. If you’re ready, I’m ready.”

“What?” he asked, clearly not understanding, and then all the colour drained from his face. It wasn’t exactly encouraging. “You mean—you’ll tell me who you are?”

She nodded. “If you tell me who you are. Or show it, I suppose.”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve wanted this since day one, remember?”

Her heart thudded painfully. “Things change,” she offered. If he wanted an out, he had better take it now.

“I want to know you,” he said. “All of you.”

“And you want me to know you?”

His mouth opened and closed. “Yes,” he said finally.

She smiled. “Okay. How do you want to do this?”

He started pacing again, for a good amount of time. He cleared the table, blew out the candles, turned on the big room lights. After another moment of consideration he closed the light-coloured curtains, which seemed smart, though Marinette wished they could stay open so they could watch the storm. She breathed deeply when Chat’s furious movement came to an end.

“Here,” he said, standing in front of the couch. “Let’s sit on this rug, and maybe… hold hands?”

She joined him on the rug—pale and fuzzy over the hardwood floor—and they sat opposite each other, legs folded, hands clasped.

“Let’s close our eyes and drop the transformation,” she said. “We’ll open them when we’re ready.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. She let herself look at him for a moment longer: the masked boy she knew and loved, who always had a joke at hand. She smiled and closed her eyes.

“I’m dropping mine,” she whispered, and did. “Keep your eyes closed.”

The transformation tingled against her skin, and then she was holding Chat’s fingers directly, no gloves between them. She took a deep breath, keeping her eyes closed tightly.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Tikki said, nuzzling Marinette’s cheek. The gesture was comfort beyond words. Even if she and Chat didn’t last beyond this point, she’d always have Tikki.

God, let them last beyond this point.

“I heard something about dessert,” came an unfamiliar voice—a pompous, strange one that nearly made Marinette grin. No wonder Chat was such a mischievous cat, with that sprite supporting him.

“Help yourself,” Chat said, sounding exasperated—and breathless. Was his heart beating as fast as hers? Then, to her: “Should I open my eyes?”

“Wait a little longer,” she managed, trying to calm her racing pulse. He sounded the same. He was still Chat, still the boy she loved. Wasn’t he?

And she was still Ladybug, with or without the mask. Wasn’t she?                      

“I’m not going to get less nervous by waiting,” he said wryly. “But I’ll wait as long as you want.”

“Maybe you’ll fall asleep, and I’ll get to take a sneak peek at you.”

He huffed a breath. “No way. I could stay awake like this for days if I had to.”

“Are you turning this into a contest, kitty?”

“I wouldn’t dream of competing with you.”

They fell silent. Rain drummed against the windows, a calming sound, and several times Marinette nearly gave the go-ahead. Each time the words died somewhere in her chest, strangled by fear.

She’d told Alya. This couldn’t be worse. She braced herself hard and squeezed Chat’s hands. One more deep breath.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay open them?”

“On the count of three. The—the beat after three.”

“On the silent four, got it.” There was a smile in his voice. She wanted to see it.

“Okay,” she said, and he joined in the count. “One, two, three—”

She opened her eyes, and saw Adrien Agreste sitting opposite her.          


	6. Cast in a different light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A (relatively) fast update, because I'm cruel but not /that/ cruel. Maybe just... 35% cruel? You can make up your own mind! Thanks to those who take the time to leave a comment, here or on tumblr! c'x It is so, so appreciated.

Adrien felt like the sun was rising in his chest, his world brightening in seconds as everything fell into place. It was her— _of course_ it was her, how had he not _seen_ —

“No,” Marinette said abruptly, her voice clipped, face pale. She stood, beginning to pace, and Adrien’s inner sunrise halted, that rising ball of fire sinking into his stomach. But of course. It wasn’t enough for him to like her, to be grateful it was her; she had to like him back.

Her hands pressed over her face, and he watched her pace: back, forth, back, forth. Something inside of him was turning to dust.

“This is absurd,” she said. “It was you? All along?”

He fought the instinct to deny it: _no, I just switched places with Chat Noir, haha! A guy more palatable to you is waiting outside, please don’t stop liking me—_

She sat down in front of him again, her face flushed now. “I can’t believe it. I was _so_ _into_ you…”

His throat was tight. His first interaction with Marinette had been a disaster, but he’d thought they’d become friends since then. Hadn’t they? He remembered her words in the park, the way she’d heaped praise on him like she thought he was worth something.

“And you were right there the whole time.” She looked up, and instead of the tortured expression he’d come to expect he saw something like wry amusement. “Flirting with me as Chat Noir, while I wouldn’t look at you twice, because I was in love with—well, you.”

“Wait,” he said. He couldn’t follow what she was saying at all. What did she mean?

She groaned. “And then when you came back after I missed you so much, I tried to convince myself I didn’t love Chat Noir, and I thought—ugh, I thought ‘you don’t have to pin your hopes on him, because look! There’s great guys like Adrien!’ and both of them were _you_. I was trying to distract myself from you with you. I’m an idiot.”

Adrien sat very still, puzzling through her words. They made no sense to him. Eventually, he managed: “So it’s not a… bad surprise?”

Her eyes widened. “You thought—?! Oh! Oh, no!”

He watched her face turn bright red. Not a bad surprise—that was good. His stunned terror receded a little. Marinette, the girl behind the mask—the girl he’d admired but never been close to—didn’t hate who he was, and she had cause to know him better than most. If he’d been alone, he might have stretched out on the rug and laid there for a while, recovering from his earlier shock now that it wasn’t the world-ending thing it had been.

 _Marinette_. Strong, smart Marinette, who showed one face to the rest of the world and another to him all through their school years, who obsessed about things like fairness and didn’t mind going head-to-head with Chloe, who was a magnet for trouble despite her best intentions. She was his Ladybug. How was it possible? And yet, how could it be anyone else?

 _Love me_ , he willed her. Perhaps she didn’t yet, but he’d work for it, as hard as he needed to. _Please_.

She was sitting with her hands pressed to her face, lost in thought. When she glanced at him, he wanted to reach for her—but she glanced away before he could, her face colouring again.

He wanted to throw up Chat’s flirting as a defence, something like ‘am I too handsome for you to look at without the mask, my lady?’, but the words wouldn’t come. Eventually what emerged was, “You—uh—can’t look at me now?”

She turned her head even further away from him. “It’s like looking at the sun. From now on I can only look at you peripherally.”

He laughed shakily, unsure what she meant. “What?”

She held up a hand, face still turned away, and told the room: “Adrien Agreste was the boy I had a crush on all through high school. When he came back from China, he was _still_ , and I’m quoting myself here, ‘the best guy in Paris’. But I was in love with this hopeless other guy, who I thought I knew better. And then he’s… you’re… _you_? It’s not fair! That’s too much.”

Adrien was staring. The boy she had a crush on. For all of high school. _The best guy in Paris_. Her embarrassed tone said she meant it, but _how_ could she mean it? How could she have had a crush for all those years without him noticing? Sometimes he’d thought she disliked him and was trying to be polite. _How?_

He steadied his breathing. “Will it help if I say I’m glad it’s you?”

A tiny, suspicious glance, then: “You are?”

It was his turn to be embarrassed. “I always wanted to get to know you better. You were always so stiff around me—I thought maybe you were being polite for our friends’ sake.”

She groaned and shook her head.

Silence filled the room again while the storm raged without.

“Adrien is Chat Noir,” she mumbled to herself. “My Chat Noir.”

He clung to that. “Yours. Yes.”

Their eyes met, and finally she didn’t look away, though how stiffly she sat suggested she might want to. The way she looked at him—as if she could gaze _into_ him—should have made him feel naked, but all he felt was… seen. Noticed. It was a good feeling. He wanted to let her in, and to be let in in return. He wanted to be the person she confided in, even if—just now—she could barely look at him without tensing.

He was ready to love every part of her, if she let him.

“I think—” Marinette started, but she paused when they heard voices in the hallway. They both froze. The voices weren’t the normal chatter of people going to their rooms; they were whispering. It was suspicious, especially since it sounded like they were right behind the door.

Adrien grabbed her hand, pulled her with him back to the kitchen. Their kwamis—hers was a cute red thing—drifted over, peeking out at the apartment door curiously.

“I think we should transform,” Adrien whispered. “Maybe we were followed.”

She looked up, caught against his chest, and it was only then he noticed he’d sheltered her against him the way he would have sheltered Ladybug while fighting a dangerous enemy. Her eyes were wide, and he felt his face burn—a mirror image to the flush that appeared on her face—and they sprang apart. Marinette recovered first.

“You’re right,” she said, moving further out of sight of the door. “Tikki?”

He should have transformed immediately, same as her, but he watched as Marinette changed into Ladybug, his heart thudding fast. The same. They were the same; they looked the same. The transformation changed nothing really, nothing essential, though perhaps she looked more comfortable as Ladybug. He could relate to that.

The door splintered open, knocking him from his reverie. _What the hell?_

Marinette—Ladybug? Marinette?—gestured him further into the kitchen while she peeked around the corner into the living room. Plagg looked at him oddly.

“Shouldn’t you be…” Plagg gestured, doing a little transformation dance, and if the door hadn’t just been blasted open Adrien would have laughed. Should he transform? Just now there was silence, so maybe whoever had just entered the living room didn’t know where they were. What if the flash of transformation gave them away?

Marinette glanced at him and seemed surprised to find him untransformed; that sealed the deal.

“Transform me,” he whispered to Plagg, and felt strength flood his body. He stretched his arms out before slinking up behind Marinette. _Marinette_. _Ladybug. Marinette._

She drew him back into the kitchen. “They went to the bedroom. We need to get out. Let’s go out the window.”

The bedroom? That was… embarrassing. What had they expected to find?

Oh god. On second thought, he knew what, and now was not the time to think about it. He preceded Marinette to the window furthest from the living room and clambered out, very glad for his superpowers. The apartment building was all metal and glass, and it was _huge_. The drop would kill a—well, an anything.

Marinette elected to climb onto his back instead of trying to find something to yoyo; he pretended to be casual about this, even though he could feel the press of her breasts against his shoulder blades and the power of her thighs around his waist.

 _Still not the time to be thinking about that_ , he reminded himself, climbing up to the roof. There was a zip, then a clunk.

She’d knocked out a guy standing smoking on the roof.

“Uh,” Adrien said. She got off his back and pointed, and he saw what she must have seen immediately: a strange-looking gun in his free hand.

“They’re armed with tranquilisers,” Marinette said. “All of them. I have no idea what that means, but it’s not good.”

“Let’s get out of here. Where…?”

“We’ll circle around to my apartment. _Carefully_. Follow my lead.”

He did as she told him, just the way he always had. The sky drizzled on them, the storm over, and there were beams of late evening light spearing the clouds. It would have made a pretty picture, the rain-washed city, but Adrien’s mind was on tranquiliser guns. And—well—a little bit on the fact that their pursuers had headed to the bedroom first. He knew what they’d expected to find there.

Oh well. Instead of that, they’d find all the stuff he’d moved out of the living room, haphazardly strewn across the bed so Ladybug wouldn’t think they were sneaking into someone else’s apartment uninvited. God, he hoped they didn’t wreck the place past the door thing. He could pay for the door thing, but he couldn’t replace photos. Alexandra would kill him if she found her dream pad torn up.

He followed Marinette to a dark metro station. They hid there for a long while, watching people come and go. Marinette-Ladybug’s hand was on his chest as if to keep him stationary, her attention on their surroundings, and Adrien wanted to wrap his arms around her and offer comfort, maybe even kiss her. He didn’t; he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be unwelcome now that he was Adrien in her mind and not just Chat Noir.

“Let’s sneak out with the next group,” she said, and his yo-yoing between _should I_ and _shouldn’t I_ came to an end. He followed her lead when she dropped the transformation, and they walked out with a big group of metro travellers, Adrien and Marinette once more. Marinette looked pale.

“Are you all right?” he asked. They lagged, letting their “group” get ahead of them.

She shook her head. “With people after us? No, not really.”

“Isn’t that par for the course?”

“Not since Papillon. And at least he had the decency to announce himself instead of just sending goons.”

Adrien wondered what she thought about those goons heading straight to the bedroom. No—on second thought, it probably hadn’t struck her at all. She wasn’t as easily intimidated as he was.

The drizzle had stopped by the time they walked into the stairwell of Marinette’s apartment. He walked a step or two behind her, still flustered by the reality of her. Now wasn’t the time to be entranced by the line of her jaw, her long neck, the wisps of hair by her ear, and yet…

“Alya might be home,” she said, shocking him from his reverie. Her glance back at him was skittish, her shoulders high. Had she realised they didn’t have to stick together? Would she tell him to go?

“Is that a problem?”

“No! But—she’ll…”

He waited. They got to Marinette’s floor, and she fiddled with her keys, eyes lowered.

“Ah, what does it matter!” Marinette exclaimed brightly. Obviously, whatever it was mattered to her a lot; her face was pink as she unlocked the door, the tension in her shoulders still obvious. She walked into the apartment. “Alya, I’m home! Adrien’s here too.”

The stutter on the last sentence shook through him, making her nervousness infectious. He closed the door behind him, but there was no response from inside; Alya was out, and while Marinette had seemed nervous at the thought of Alya seeing him she seemed oddly deflated now. He watched her send someone—probably Alya—a text, wishing he could ease the tension somehow.

It was easier being Chat Noir than it was being Adrien.

“Can I see your room?” he blurted when she pocketed her phone. It was tragic. He knew how to be smooth; part of his modelling job was charming people he’d never see again. But now that Marinette was Ladybug, it was impossible to produce even a faint glimmer of charisma in her presence.

“You’ve already seen it,” she said, but she led him there anyway—past that giant poster of Ladybug. He gestured at it.

“May I compliment you on the décor? I think I forgot to last time.”

Her lips quirked. “You said it needed an update.”

“The hair and costume style are obviously out of date,” he said. “And your b—” He cleared his throat. _And your body has changed since then as well_ said he noticed the subtle changes in her physique, which probably wasn’t a gentlemanly thing to do. He took a breath. “It’s a great poster, but the current Ladybug is always best.”

She laughed nervously and opened the door to her bedroom, stepping aside to let him through. Immediately he examined the picture frames, wondering which one had been put on its face last time he was in here. Most were of friends and family, but—there. He picked up a photo of Chat Noir and Ladybug, smiling, only to have it wrenched from him.

Marinette pressed the photo to her chest. “No teasing,” she said.

He laughed. “You should see my room.”

“I should?”

His face prickled with embarrassment. “Maybe Alya should. She’d appreciate it more.”

Maybe having a lot of limited edition merchandise of his girlfriend— _was_ she his girlfriend? Could he call her that, even in his head?—wasn’t something to brag about. He wiped sweaty palms on his jeans and took in the rest of her room, mentally comparing it to the loft she’d inhabited before. It had the same feeling to it, though she’d branched out from the old all-pink décor; there were greens and yellows present too. Something about the room reminded him of macaroons, delicate and colourful.

He walked over to a bust that was half-wearing several things, and again Marinette got in his way.

“It’s not done! It’s a mess just now.”

“This is your project?”

She nodded, seeming embarrassed. She was avoiding his gaze again, even though her intercept course had put them inches from each other. Adrien wondered what he could do to set her at ease. He wanted the effortlessness of their relationship as Chat Noir and Ladybug back.

“Will it help if I transform back?” he asked. “Plagg’s in the other room. I can help him raid your fridge, and—”

“It won’t help,” she said, almost like a sigh. She’d obviously considered it already herself. Finally she looked at him. “You’ll still be Adrien underneath.”

He swallowed. “Still a big surprise, huh?”

“Yes! It’s not for you?”

He rubbed the back of his head. “I suppose not. I know you as the person who became class rep because no one else would do it properly. That seems like a really Ladybug thing to do in hindsight. All sorts of things fell into place.”

“I suppose you’re good at being charming in both states,” Marinette said. “But that’s the thing! As Adrien, you’re _good_ at it! Actually good, and convincing.”

Adrien covered his mouth so he wouldn’t laugh in her face. Ought he be offended? “You’re saying I’m not charming as Chat Noir? And here I was thinking I’d won your heart fair and square.”

“You did,” she said, making his pulse race. “But it was more how bad and over the top you were that did it. Or it was just… _you_. The way we could rely on each other. Your compliments are absurd.”

“But meant,” he pointed out, and her smile then was so exasperated-Ladybug that he went weak-kneed. They were standing so close to each other thanks to the way she’d protected that bust. He could easily reach for her, or lean down and kiss her. How could her misplaced admiration for who he was under the mask make that harder instead of easier?

He was staring. He knew from the way her smile dropped, replaced by a blush and lowered lids. He was making her nervous—in a good way? Or…

“You’re so good,” she mumbled. “As Adrien. Smart, hard-working, nice to everyone—even to people who don’t quite deserve it. I expected the guy behind Chat to be… well, lovable, but not so perfect. It’s going to take a lot of getting used to.”

“I am so far from perfect,” he breathed. He was a coward. Didn’t she see that? Couldn’t she track his progress from day one, all of it along a path his father had mapped out? He’d never wanted to leave Paris, not for anywhere in the world, no matter how much he liked his new friends abroad. This was his home, and he’d left it because he was told to. He’d left her.

His breath hitched when she touched him, placing her hands tentatively on his chest. She was comforting him, he realised, and looking up into his face with a concerned look that made him want to wrap himself around her. He caught her right hand, pinning it over his heart.

“I’m the same,” he said. “Promise.”

“A sentimental idiot who calls me the moon in his sky? Who thinks hand kisses are the height of sophistication?”

“Exactly,” Adrien said. Chat would have sounded sardonic; Adrien sounded breathless. “Though you’re more like the sun—” he swallowed hard, clambered past several barriers of embarrassment “—my lady.”

The corners of her mouth tugged up. “I thought we’d established I don’t give off light.”

“I’ve had time to think about it now, and I should have said that not all light is in the visible spectrum.”

She moved in—to rest her forehead against his chest. Could she feel how hard she made his heart hammer? “This is too much,” she said.

“It is?”

“Nino was right.” This was mumbled into his shirt. “You’re a nerd.”

“Surely you noticed before now?” he said, amused, though the amusement was beginning to lose from excitement. She was standing against him, both hands clutching his shirt, face buried.

She shrugged, which was apparently all she planned to say on the matter. He raised his hands, placing them slowly on her shoulders. She didn’t jump away, though she did seem to be trembling.

He could smell her strawberry shampoo. He needed to hold her properly, to try at least.

“Marinette,” he said. “I lov—”

Her head flew up, nearly giving him an uppercut with her skull. She jumped back. “It’s so hot in here! Are you sweating? I’m sweating. We should drink something. We were attacked—might be dehydrated—”

She ran away, more or less, back to the kitchen. He followed at a more sedate pace. Plagg joined him, exclaiming, “Camembert! They had it!”

He decided to eat it on Adrien’s shoulder, which was probably meant to be comforting in Plagg’s uniquely ineffectual way. Marinette glanced at Adrien.

“Camembert?” she said, and her voice was lower in pitch than it had been a moment ago; she’d calmed a little.

“ _His_ favourite, not mine.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s why! Oh god, that’s why you were so desperate for Camembert that time. I thought it was your dirty little secret, liking smelly cheese.”

He gestured. _What can you do?_ “What does your kwami eat? Fresh fruit and sunbeams?”

Marinette laughed—and was joined by another voice. A red thing flew over to nuzzle Marinette’s face, and Marinette nuzzled back, closing her eyes.

“Tikki likes baked goods,” Marinette said, giving red-thing-also-known-as-Tikki one last caress.

Adrien aimed a dirty look at Plagg. “Figures.”

Plagg held up his paws. “I am not nuzzling you.”

“You not nuzzling me isn’t the problem! Can’t you eat cake instead of Camembert?”

“A cat with a sweet tooth?” Plagg said, in a voice that suggested this was ridiculous. “I have my pride.”

“You’re not a cat. And who’s heard of a cat only eating smelly cheese?”

Plagg ignored this, and when Adrien looked up he found Marinette staring at him.

“Uh,” he said.

She jumped. “Nothing!”

It wasn’t nothing, but he had no idea what it could be. In her current state anything was possible, and he waited for her to explain, head cocked.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you talk like that,” she said eventually. “A little to Chloe, maybe, at times, but even then not much.”

“Talk like what?” Adrien asked.

“Openly. Complaining a little. Being critical.” Marinette’s face was thoughtful. “I always thought you had the patience of an angel.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. He didn’t really think his forbearance was something to be admired: more habit than intent, and born of his fear of conflict. He’d been passive, not patient. Would she realise that someday? The thought of being seen for what he was had always been attractive, but fear accompanied it. “Disappointed?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Relieved.” She handed him a glass of water and chugged her own, wiping her mouth after. “Alya still hasn’t gotten back to me. I told her about the guys with tranquilisers being after Ladybug and Chat Noir. She’ll have ideas on who’s behind it.”

“Didn’t she think Chloe was Ladybug at one point?”

Marinette laughed. “Her reasoning has gotten a lot better since then. You can’t hold that against her.”      

Adrien blinked, a thought occurring. “Wait—you told her about the people after us. Does she know? About you?”

“I told her a few days ago. Once—once I decided to tell you.”

 _A few days ago_. So the scene this evening hadn’t been a spur of the moment thing; she’d been working up to it.

“I would have liked to know there were people after us _before_ I made that decision, though there’s nothing to be done for it now,” she said morosely. “We’re in so much more danger if they know who we are.”

“They don’t. Not yet.” He hoped he was telling the truth. No, he had to be. If their unknown adversary knew who he and Marinette were, there would be people here and at the mansion instead of Alexandra’s apartment. “Will we tell Alya about me?”

Marinette flushed. “That’s up to you.”

He considered it. He liked Alya, and it was obvious Marinette hated keeping secrets from her. “She should know, then. So she has all the relevant information.”

Marinette nodded, still looking embarrassed. Why? He could only hope he’d find out eventually.

There was a clatter at the door, and Alya appeared in the doorframe, lugging a bicycle in with her. “I’m home,” she called, looking down at her pedals so they wouldn’t trip her or get the bike stuck. “I cycled as fast as I could. Tell me everything!”

She looked up, freezing when she saw Adrien.

“Uh. Oh. Hello, Adrien! Always nice to see you!”

Her fixed smile belied her words; she wanted to discuss Ladybug things with Marinette, and she thought he would be a hindrance to that. He wondered what it was like, living with your best friend—but Nino already had a roommate. Three of them, in fact.

Alya put her bicycle away and closed the door, taking the water Marinette handed her. She gulped it down.

“So,” Alya said. “Was that storm cool, or what?”

The question was a distraction tactic, he thought, brought up to give her more time to think. She was looking from Marinette to Adrien, obviously puzzling something out in her mind. Marinette sighed.

“Let me introduce you,” she said, and confusion showed in Alya’s face. _I already know Adrien_ , he could hear her think, but Marinette ploughed on. “Alya, meet Chat Noir. And before you ask, no, I didn’t know. I only just found out today.”

Alya’s eyes went wide. She looked at Marinette for a long time, then at Adrien. Then at Marinnete again, and her hands went to cover her mouth.

Because of the shock, Adrien thought. But then Alya began to laugh, muffled, obviously trying to suppress it. He glanced at Marinette, surprised, and saw she’d gone beetroot red. Alya apologised between hiccups of laughter.

“I’m sorry—” gasp “—it’s really not funny—” choke “—but your face…” She calmed a little, shutting her eyes tightly, but the laughter came back. “It’s hysteria, I promise. Marinette, Adrien, I’ll calm down in a moment—”

Adrien raised his brows at Marinette, but she was still watching Alya, wearing a rueful smile. Still red.

Eventually, after a long while, the hiccupped laughter stopped. Alya wiped her eyes. Her look at Marinette held a silent question, but Adrien couldn’t guess what it was, and the answer was a shrug that meant _I’ll tell you later_. He wished he could be a fly on the wall when ‘later’ happened. And speaking of flies on the wall—Tikki and Plagg had disappeared. _Interesting._

“So,” Alya said, finally looking at Adrien. “Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir all along. Who could have guessed?”

“I promise it was more obvious than anyone thinks,” Adrien said. He didn’t know what made him say it, except that he knew he wasn’t _that_ different as Chat Noir. He just seemed different, because his actions were cast in a different light.

Maybe.

“Hopefully no one will guess,” Marinette said. “But we have to prepare for the possibility. Are you ready to brainstorm?”

Alya laughed—the kind of laugh you would expect from a Disney villain. A cackle, really. “Oh, Marinette. Remember who you’re asking. I am _always_ ready to brainstorm.”


	7. Simply the best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to everyone who keeps me going with kudos, comments & bookmarks so I don't have to feel like I'm just writing this for myself! Hope you enjoy, as always. c: 
> 
> (ps, I finally watched the "imposter" episode and it was the best thing ever. Endless laughter here: http://mysecretfanmoments.tumblr.com/post/142868139947/i-just-watched-limposteur-and-it-may-be-because-i )

Marinette was over her crush on Adrien Agreste. Rephrase: she _had_ been over her crush on him. Knowing he was the boy behind Chat had crashed it back into her body with a vengeance, like an evil spirit re-possessing a hapless former victim long after it had been exorcised—just when the victim thought she was safe.

Well—evil was maybe not the right word. Her body fizzed and shivered and burned, hyperaware of his hands, his eyes, the smallest change in his expression. When he had been perfect, untouchable Adrien, she could admire him the way she’d admire a sunset or a starry night, glad for the view but empty of expectations. Now he was looking at her like _she_ was the sunset, and it was going to send her to an early grave.

Plus, she loved him. Actually, truly loved him. Like she’d said earlier, it was too much. She could deal with Adrien and Chat separately, but together? It was like finding out her boyfriend was secretly also her favourite idol. Totally overwhelming, and not something she could deal with at the moment.

She needed Alya-time. She was glad she’d told Alya about maybe sort of having a thing with Chat Noir, so at least that wouldn’t have to be explained before getting to the “how do I reconcile the two of them”-part.

“Will you stay here?” Alya was asking Adrien.

“It seems… safer?” he offered, which surprised Marinette. Could it really be dangerous already? For Chat Noir and Ladybug perhaps it was, but for the two of them? They hadn’t been discovered yet; only their masked identities could be tracked.

Alya seemed to think along the same lines. “That’s a bit pre-emptive. Are you concerned for us?”

His jaw was tight. “I don’t want to split up. We don’t know what we’re up against, or how long it’ll take them to figure it out. I’ll go if you want me to, though.”

Alya drummed her fingers on the table. The set-up was oddly reminiscent of the time Chat Noir had sat opposite Alya answering interview questions and Marinette had watched, though Marinette was involved this time. She still had trouble focusing, preferring to let Alya lead.

“You staying is fine by me,” Alya said, and in unison she and Adrien turned to look at Marinette. God, how much more would Marinette blush today? The blood vessels in her face had to be overworked by now.

“You can stay in my room,” Marinette said. “I’ll stay with Alya.” The thought of staying in the same room as Adrien made her feel faint, however much she might enjoy the fantasy. If they’d been alone, Alya might have teased— _are you sure you want to miss this chance?_ —but she was a good friend, and wouldn’t do it in front of Adrien.

They had _so much_ they needed to talk about. Alya would probably explode if she didn’t get to exclaim over the irony of Marinette’s crush on Adrien sometime soon.

“Okay,” Adrien said. “So I was thinking—”

“Wait,” Alya said. “I know you two are totally informed, but I just want to confirm. It really, absolutely can’t be Papillon behind it all?”

Marinette pursed her lips. No: his Miraculous was with the custodian. But…

“It can’t be his transformed self,” she said. “We never discovered the man behind it.”

Alya groaned. “Why not?”

“Others were in danger. It seemed more important to help them.”

“You didn’t even catch a glimpse?”

“Of his retreating back? Yes.”

Alya looked at Adrien. “And you?”

He shook his head. “Marinette tossed me the Miraculous and told me to run, so I did. The akuma was still active at the time; it didn’t stop just because Papillon’s power had been taken from him.”

“Wasn’t the akumatised person on your side though?” Alya asked. “He helped you get to Papillon…”

“We fooled him,” Marinette said. “We’d been trying for about a year to do that to an akumatised person, and it finally worked. But no one was ever on our side, except the custodian.”

“Does the custodian have a superhero name?” Alya asked, her voice taking on an innocent tone Marinette recognised. “‘The custodian’ sounds more like a job.”

“This is not an exposé,” Marinette said, half-amused.

Alya grinned. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“So what?” Adrien asked, rubbing his chin. “We think it’s still Papillon? But why after all this time?”

Both girls looked at him.

“What?” he asked, shoulders drawing up.

“You’re back,” Alya said. “Maybe Ladybug by herself wasn’t enough to tempt him.”

“It’s my fault?” Adrien asked, obviously distressed.

“It’s not,” Marinette said quickly. “I think creation always tempted him more than destruction.”

“Then why not strike when you were alone?” Adrien’s face had gone pale, not comforted by Marinette’s attempt at comfort. She wracked her brain for more soothing words, but in the meantime silence fell.

“We’re not sure it’s him,” Marinette said at last, at the same time Alya said, “Because he thought he could catch you out of your suits.”

Marinette whirled. “What?”

“He thought you’d reveal yourselves to each other. And you did.”

This silence was different; Marinette could just about hear wheels turning and clock hands ticking. A wash of guilt swept through her.

_You could have been safe_ , that guilt said. _Everyone could have been safe, but you had to know who he was._

Adrien, however, seemed to have calmed. He began shaking his head. “It’s not him.”

“Why not?” Marinette asked quietly.

“It just doesn’t make sense to me. It feels different.”

For some reason, Marinette hoped he was right—though why would it matter who was after them, as long as someone was?

She was surprised when Alya nodded. “Your intuition counts. You know him better than anyone. Hm, well, it’s only one option. My first thought was some sort of criminal organisation looking for superpowered people they can use.”

“Your first thought?” Adrien asked sardonically. “Really?”

She shrugged. “It’s not too ridiculous, is it?”

“It’s a bit… big.” He clasped his hands together and looked at the tabletop musingly, as if it held all the answers.

Marinette puzzled through the facts she knew at some pace, wishing she could transfer her memories of the night to Alya and Adrien for them to pore over. She called to mind the men she’d seen today, the ones after them. There had been three guys, not counting the lookout on the roof. Two scrawny guys and one big one, not particularly distinctive in any way. They looked like the kind of guys she could pass in the street and not think twice about—but not in that anonymous, Agent Smith from the Matrix way. More like… like…

Check-out guys. Bus boys. Average people living average lives, for all that they were wearing dark clothes and holding strange weapons. Wouldn’t trained killers have known to scope the whole place out instead of just rushing to one room?

“Marinette?” Alya asked, voice cautious.

“They seemed like amateurs,” Marinette said. Her voice came out sounding Ladybug-sure, and she could see the effect it had on Adrien: how he relaxed and sat up at the same time, his focus—or perhaps his faith—settling squarely on her where before his thoughts had turned inward, doubtful.

“You’re saying amateurs broke into a fancy apartment complex to chase down known badasses?” Alya sounded suspicious.

“Thanks,” Marinette said. “And yes. I didn’t say it was smart of them, but I think that’s exactly what they did.”

“I’ll take that into account too, then, after I get all the details from you. Speaking of…”

Alya pulled out a notepad and pen, and the real interrogation started. She asked about everything: time of day, whether they’d noticed anyone on their way to the apartment complex, whether the whispering outside the door had sounded French, excruciating physical details. Almost an hour had passed by the time she clicked the back of her pen decisively and declared her research—for now—done.

Adrien looked stunned by Alya’s brisk interviewing; Marinette felt oddly proud.

“I have a plan,” Alya said. “You two just lay low. No transforming for a bit, _especially_ if something seems trap-ish. Don’t watch the news, don’t google yourselves.”

“You think someone’s trying to trap us?” Marinette asked. She wasn’t as shocked by the idea as she might have been. Wasn’t that Papillon’s tactic?

“It’s not out of the question,” Alya said. “Better to play it safe, at least until phase two.”

“Phase two?” This came from Adrien.

Alya held up a finger. “Future Adrien’s problem. For now, I’m starving, and I need food for my miracle brain. Objections?”

“None,” Marinette said. She wiped her eyes, exhausted. Sneaking a glance at Adrien helped the tiredness recede, setting her stomach squirming, but in the long run using Adrien-is-Chat-Noir-and-he-likes-me-induced flutters to wake herself up would only exhaust her more. And he wanted to stay here—

She stood abruptly, remembering she’d said he could stay in her room. “Be right back,” she said, leaving the table in favour of checking to make sure her room was clean enough to stay in. She set her most recent diary in her diary-trap—she’d stopped rigorously locking it up some time ago—and made sure there were no embarrassing clothing items strewn about. She thought about taping her underwear drawer shut, since with her luck it would probably spontaneously fall out of her dresser while Adrien was in here, but it would give the impression she doubted _him_ , not her good fortune.

He appeared in the doorframe as if she’d summoned him.

“Is me being here okay?” he asked. His voice was low, though she could hear it easily over the sound of Alya clattering about in the kitchen, extractor on.

“Of course it is. It’s after dark. Someone could try to mug you, and then you’d have to transform, and then we’d all be in trouble.”

“I can sleep out here, though,” Adrien said, pointing at the living room. She shook her head.

“Those bean bags are terrible for sleeping on, and Alya has a big bed. Just promise not to look in any of my drawers.”

Adrien held a hand to his heart. “You wound me.”

She laughed; he sounded so like Chat just then, though now that she thought of it—after his comment about his Chat-identity being more obvious than people thought—she realised he sounded like Chat fairly often. His words and behaviour just didn’t register as Chat-like because they came from Mister Perfect, not Mister Sass-In-An-All-Black Suit.

He watched her intently, his pleasure at her response obvious. The feelings that hopeful look evoked in her were startling, new; how was she meant to get used to the sensation of her heart flipping over in her chest?

“I guess you really are Chat Noir,” she said.

He swallowed and nodded. “The one and only.”

She smiled. “There’s been an imposter or two…”

“Come on! Like you couldn’t find the real me every time.”

She grinned. This seemed to reassure him, and after a moment she realised the conversation reassured her too. It was confirmation that they’d both been there all those years, both witnessed events from their separate vantages. He didn’t say Ladybug; he said _you_.

After a moment’s hesitation he walked into the room, dropping into her desk chair. Again he picked up the picture of Ladybug and Chat Noir from her desk and this time she let him. He looked his fill, expression unreadable. She sat on the bed, legs drawn up, and watched him. The way he draped in the seat, posture anything but perfect, made her heart pound. Chat-like. He was Chat-like, even as Adrien, and she’d never seen it.

“Do you want anything?” she asked, resting her chin on her knees.

He shocked up like he’d forgotten she was there. For a moment their eyes met, and his mouth opened—but if something sprang to mind he didn’t utter it. His face did colour, though, and again Marinette felt a mixture of flutters and bone-deep exhaustion, wishing she could crawl under covers and process the day’s revelations.

_I kissed him_ , she thought suddenly. The thought had been tugging at her for a while now, demanding attention. Those hands had pulled her close to him. She’d more or less _straddled_ —

She shot up. “Nothing?” Her voice was very high.

He shook his head and went back to looking at the picture, his grip just a bit tighter than before.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the evening passed in a tired blur, the commonplace mixing with the bizarre. One moment they were making sure their guest had towels and the next they were in another brainstorming session about who might be after them. Was this Marinette’s new life now, she wondered? Tikki stayed curiously silent through it all, as did her all-black counterpart. Tikki and Alya had met two days ago, so there was no reason for her to hide—but perhaps she was as overwhelmed as Marinette was, and appreciated the time to think.

Marinette was relieved when bedtime finally crawled into their collective consciences and they all said good night. She needed Alya time—though she fully expected to fall asleep the moment she joined Alya in bed.

That was not to be.

“So,” Alya said, lengthening the o. The room was dark, both of them under the covers, and yet Marinette was instantly awake.

“I know,” she said. God, did she know.

“All those years.” Alya sounded amazed.

“All of them.”

“And you couldn’t even talk to—”

“I know!” Marinette said, sitting up. Her hands flew into her hair. “What the heck!”

Alya began to laugh, and after a moment Marinette laughed with her. Eventually, Marinette fell back on the bed and whined.

“Alya,” she said. “This is worse. This is worse than being in love with either of them separately.”

“Oh, is it? I would have thought it would be _better_. Double the fun.”

Marinette could hear Alya’s eyebrows waggle. “Have some sympathy,” she pleaded.

“I’m very sympathetic,” Alya said. “Aw, poor you. Your high school crush is helplessly in love with you and fate basically picked you for each other. What a pain!”

Marinette battered her with a pillow for a moment, earning giggles—but she stopped soon after, sighing. Fate picked them for each other. Fate—or rather, their custodian hero-friend—picked her and Adrien to fight together. And Adrien had fallen in love with that version of her.

She had fallen for both versions of him.

“Wait, you’re actually serious, aren’t you?” Alya said after a while. “You think there’s a problem.”

“Not with me,” Marinette said. “I’ve been in love with both sides of him. For him, it was only ever Ladybug.”

“Yes, but you’re Ladybug! _The_ Ladybug. There’s only one Ladybug, and she’s you.”

“I’m not like that all the time. You know that better than anyone.”

Alya snorted. “What, super coordinated? Yeah, true. I’m halfway convinced that’s why I thought it couldn’t be you all those years. Marinette, who can’t press the right button on a phone under pressure? Navigating Paris by air with a yoyo? Yeah, right.”

“Right.” Marinette sighed.

“Marinette. Do you really think he’s in love with you because you can swing from rooftops?”

“Honestly? That always seemed like a big part of it.” Marinette folded her arms and kicked her legs, dislodging blankets from her too-warm body. What _had_ caused Adrien to fall in love with Ladybug? It had been an at-first-sight thing, hadn’t it? She didn’t remember him ever not flirting with her. Impulses like that couldn’t be trusted. She was a patissier’s daughter; she knew that what appealed at first glance wasn’t always the best treat.

She could hear Alya shifting as she pondered. The silence took on a thoughtful air, and finally Alya sighed.

“Love… it’s not just who you’re in love with, is it? It’s not all about them.”

Marinette shifted, turning towards Alya. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m an expert on the subject, but isn’t it about how they make you feel? Do they make you laugh? Do they make you feel like you matter? You’re the person who’s made him feel that way for years. You _are_ Ladybug. Whether or not he saw you before, as Marinette, he sees you now. Haven’t you noticed how he looks at you?”

A wave of embarrassed pleasure crashed over Marinette. She fidgeted. “It’s sort of hard to look at him, actually. Now that I know.”

“Hm,” Alya said, her voice taking on a teasing tone. “Not for me. Very easy on the eyes.”

“Alya!” Marinette gasped. “That’s—”

“—your boyfriend I’m ogling?”

Marinette almost yelled _yes_ , but embarrassment overtook her. She writhed in bed, trying to get comfortable. She couldn’t; her discomfort was on the inside. _Boyfriend_. Did anything they’d agreed to as Chat Noir and Ladybug still count?

It did, right? Which made Adrien her… _boyfriend_. Theoretically. Oh, god.

How was she going to survive the next few days, regardless of mysterious, gun-toting villains?

“Don’t worry about it,” Alya said. She was starting to sound sleepy. “Not the me ogling, I mean. Obviously you wouldn’t need to worry about that. But don’t worry about the rest of it either.”

“When he touches me I feel like I’ll collapse.”

“So collapse.” Alya yawned. “He’s got good reflexes.”

Marinette closed her eyes, her stomach swooping at the thought of being caught by Adrien-who-was-actually-also-Chat. _Sleepy thoughts_ , she scolded herself, feeling decidedly uninspired for sleep. _Think sleepy thoughts._ A night’s sleep would help her process things so she could look at Adrien without feeling like she was dropping into a deep, scorching caldera. Maybe.

“What if I like him more than he likes me?” she whispered eventually, after a long silence. She wasn’t sure if Alya would hear; she might have fallen asleep by now. Her breathing was deep and even.

“Not possible,” Alya said. She sounded seconds from sleep, her voice a mumble. “You’re the best.”

Marinette blew out a breath. The best? Impossible. That was always going to be Alya.

Alya was asleep before she could say so.


	8. Adjustment period

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter as I get back going after my break. Thank you to all my encouragers!

It took all Adrien’s willpower not to transform into Chat Noir just to eavesdrop on Marinette and Alya that night.

He heard two things clearly: Marinette exclaiming ‘what the heck’, and Alya telling Marinette that Marinette was Ladybug—something all three listeners already knew. The rest was all murmurs, spoken in tones too low to hear through the wall. He heard laughter at one point too, and wondered if what he felt was jealousy or curiosity. He wanted to know what had made them laugh, _and_ he wanted to be the person who’d made Marinette laugh.

She wasn’t doing a lot of laughing in his presence at the moment—not the usual Ladybug amount, at least.

 _It’s the shock_ , he told himself, but a moment later he asked Plagg if he was funny anyway.

“Funny-looking,” Plagg said immediately, because he was a pest who didn’t know when a few encouraging words were in order.

Adrien let out a sharp, disappointed sigh. “Where were you all night, anyway?”

“Reminiscing. Kwami stuff.”

“You didn’t tell her anything about me, did you?” That would be just what he needed—Plagg telling Tikki incriminating details about his life. The forced intimacy of having a kwami meant he pretty much had no secrets from Plagg, and the thought of Marinette seeing him in that unflattering light was enough to send chills down his spine.

“You say that like there’s something to tell.” Plagg’s voice was muffled by blankets; he had to be under Marinette’s covers. That explained his next comment, at least: “She smells so _girly_.”

Adrien kicked out, though not high enough to actually hit Plagg. “No one is making you sleep there!”

“You were making such a fuss when you got into her bed, all the deep breathing. I got curious.”

He fidgeted, embarrassed. That was another thing he didn’t want Marinette to know: how overwhelmed he’d been by something as simple as getting into her bed. Her smell—her presence—surrounded him. He shouldn’t have accepted her offer of sleeping in here. He should have slept on the beanbags outside—it was the gentlemanly thing to do—but a part of him was glad of the chance to sink into a space that was just Marinette’s, to let her life wash over him.

Marinette. His Ladybug. Marinette, who could barely look at him right now, who jumped away from him before he could say he loved her.

He needed a distraction. He grabbed his phone from the floor, drawing up his conversation with Nino. Their last exchange had been about a job opportunity Nino was considering, and was at a standstill. Starting a new one wouldn’t be odd.

 **Did I ever tell you I still have a crush on Ladybug?** he sent. It would seem random, but he’d been friends with Nino for so long he no longer worried some weird thing he did would cause Nino to end the friendship.

 **Suspected you did. Was afraid to ask** , Nino sent back almost instantly.

**You not working tonight? Thought you wouldn’t see this till tomorrow.**

**Nope. What, you just wanted to confess that to me and go to sleep? Weird, dude.**

Adrien laughed softly. **I just thought you should know.**

**I worry about you enough as it is.**

Adrien closed his eyes, smiling. Worry. Nino worried because he thought Adrien was going to get his heart broken. It had bruised a little, all those years of holding a torch for someone who didn’t return his regard—not the way he wanted her to, at least—but he’d never had it broken. His eyes opened when his phone buzzed with a second message.

**She’s not the girl whose number you got the other day. Please tell me my bff isn’t literally dating a superhero. You’re already a model, Adrien. Don’t do this to me.**

What could Adrien tell him? He wanted to relay everything, but it shouldn’t be done by text—so he settled for responding to Nino’s joke instead of his question. **You wouldn’t trade places with me for all the money in the world.**

**Hell no. You still think Jagged Stone is the height of musical accomplishment.**

**Sure do.**

Nino’s reply was filled with smug superiority: **I rest my case**.

Nino had forgotten the Ladybug thing, or at least let it drop for the moment. Good—Adrien didn’t want to lie anymore, not now that his secret wasn’t a never-tell-anyone thing. He’d always wanted Ladybug to be the first to know, to see him for who he was as a whole. Her response hadn’t been ideal—a part of him had somehow been hoping for immediate and wholehearted acceptance of everything he stood for—but she hadn’t broken up with him on the spot either. Now that he’d told her, couldn’t he tell Nino too? Eventually, at least. He had a feeling Alya wouldn’t mind having a non-superhero to confide in.

Adrien dropped his phone back on the floor, nestling into the blankets. The storm had broken the heat wave, and the window stood open, the air fresh. It didn’t remove Marinette’s smell; if anything, it seemed to accent it so the room was all Marinette and post-storm Paris. He lay on his side, curling up. A deep breath. Another. Ladybug. Marinette. He’d been so close to both of them for so long and never realised. Could she really still like him after he’d been so dense, magical disguise or not? Was she hurt that he’d fallen for her flashy side, the side everyone was in love with?

He must have dosed after a while, because his bladder woke him in the middle of the night. The room wasn’t dark; the streetlights made sure of that. He made his way to the door without knocking his shins against anything.

When he stepped out into the living room he heard an intake of breath, and he regretted not pulling on his jeans for this trip. Marinette seeing him sleep-rumpled in a T-shirt and boxers wasn’t a part of his plan, and would put him at a considerable disadvantage. Still, when he turned towards the noise and saw it had come from Tikki and not Marinette, part of him was disappointed. He tried not to show it as Tikki bobbed in a kwami’s version of a greeting.

“Adrien,” Tikki said in that high voice of hers. He bowed shallowly, too sleepy to go full Chat Noir.

“Tikki.”

“A bow!” she tittered. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You should expect more, my lady.”

This made her laugh too, though she added nothing after. He fidgeted.

“Can I do anything for you?” he asked.

She turned this way and that in a kwami head-shake.

He smiled. “Just curious, then?”

“Ooh. Observant!” She clapped her paws—hands?—together. “You’re right. I was lying in wait.”

He indicated the bedroom he’d just left. “You’re welcome to hang out with us.” It wasn’t totally true, since he wouldn’t be able to relax if Tikki was there, but the offer had to be made. Really it was her bedroom too.

“I wanted to ask a question,” she said. He motioned for her to continue, and she took a breath before asking, “Was she ever your second choice? After Ladybug?”

The sleepiness cleared slowly as his mind went spinning. Tikki was asking him if he’d ever considered Marinette as a romantic option. Had he? He could barely remember.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“No.”

 _Ah_. She really was curious, this kwami. It was a definite shift from Plagg’s indifference.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I liked her. Especially lately. I’m not sure I ever considered having a second choice.”

Tikki nodded, seeming satisfied with his answer. She would have said more, but the door to Alya’s bedroom opened, and Marinette more or less fell out, making it halfway to the bathroom before Adrien’s wordless exclamation and Tikki’s pleased greeting made her realise she had company. She turned.

She was wearing the pajama shorts he’d felt that time in the closet. He couldn’t make out their colour in the yellowish cast of the streetlight, but he remembered them under his hands. Cotton, soft, with lace trim.

“Oh,” she said. He waved. She held up a hand, almost waving back, then stopped herself, snatching her hand back to her chest. “You two were out here talking?”

“It’s not Adrien’s fault,” Tikki said. “I intercepted him.”

She sounded pleased with herself.

“Intercepted…?”

Adrien swept a hand in the direction of the bathroom, hoping he looked gracious instead of embarrassed. “You can go first.”

Marinette ignored the gesture, looking at Tikki. “You ambushed him!”

“Would I do that?” Tikki asked sweetly.

“Yes,” Marinette said. She looked from her kwami to Adrien and back before folding her arms. “Care to share? What was so important?”

Her obvious annoyance would have been more intimidating to Adrien if he hadn’t been so caught up in the reality of her: hair messy and loose, feet bare, pajamas…

“I just wanted to know him better,” Tikki said.

“You know everything there is to know,” Marinette said. She was acting oddly defensive—and suddenly Adrien remembered his earlier panic, how he’d worried Plagg might let something embarrassing slip.

“She didn’t tell me any of your secrets,” Adrien said. Marinette unfolded a little, seeming surprised. Her eyes met his without that earlier shyness—for a moment. Then her face darkened with embarrassment or relief.

“She didn’t?”

He shook his head. “I’d rather hear them from you.”

Behind Marinette, Tikki made an approving gesture. Marinette only stilled further.

“I don’t have any,” she mumbled after a while. “Just the one.”

He smiled. “Pretty big one, though.”

His smile didn’t seem to put her at ease at all; if anything, it did the opposite. She waved a little absently and hurried off to the bathroom, leaving Tikki and Adrien alone once more.

“She’s still getting used to the idea,” Tikki said. Her voice was sympathetic, and it reminded Adrien to be a little more guarded. He didn’t need Tikki to see him gazing after Marinette like a lost puppy. The fact that he _felt_ like a lost puppy, all desperate for approval, was immaterial.

“The whole mysterious guys with guns thing can’t be helping,” he said. What would have happened if they could have just discussed their feelings in Alexandra’s quiet apartment? Could they have worked through this in one go? The part of him that wanted to blame fate and not himself for misfortune said yes.

“You’ll get it sorted,” Tikki said. “You and Marinette. And Alya.”

He sighed. “She regrets it, doesn’t she? Telling me. Us telling each other.”

They should have remained Ladybug and Chat Noir to each other, he thought morosely. It’d be weird to go on dates in costume, sure, but they’d be safe, and Marinette would still be joking and laughing with him. Tikki read the upset in his face.

“Hey! Who is this gloomy guy?”

He managed a smile. “I’ve always been the gloomy alter ego.”

Tikki made a dismissive gesture. “Any superhero who’s only super in one form isn’t super at all, don’t you think? You were picked for qualities you already had.”

“I’ve always wondered about that,” Marinette said. He hadn’t heard the door opening, and straightened upon her re-entry. He’d always had the urge to stand to attention when Ladybug entered a room; it seemed that much was unchanged. As Chat he would drop into some casual pose the next moment, just so he would look careless and dashing, but as Adrien he didn’t have the same kind of confidence—not at the moment, anyway.

Marinette wandered up to him and Tikki, arms crossed over her torso. “Do the Miraculous always augment the same traits?”

Adrien glowed. Hearing Marinette ask questions he’d wrestled with—and plagued Plagg with—made him feel a lot less alone.

“You mean, if you hadn’t been so sweet already, would I have made you sweeter?” Tikki asked. She was folding her hands together and fluttering her lashes.

“Don’t—” Marinette started, then sighed. “Yes. Would you have?”

“No. I could make a Ladybug more confident, more capable, more willing to express herself—” at this Tikki looked at Adrien “—but a costume is only a costume. It doesn’t change who you are inside.”

Marinette’s eyes rose to meet Adrien’s. “I can’t believe you had Chat Noir inside you all those years.”

He was too sleep-addled and embarrassed to make a joke out of it. “Sorry.”

Her arms uncrossed; she placed her hands on her hips. “Sorry?”

“To surprise you like that.”

“I told you it wasn’t a bad surprise.”

He remembered her consternation earlier, how she’d said he couldn’t be Chat Noir because Adrien was charming and Chat wasn’t. He covered up his smile.

She peered at him. “What did you just think of?”

“You thought I was charming. All those years.”

“I thought _Adrien_ was charming.”

“Hello, Marinette. It’s me, Adrien.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know what you were really like, and—” Abruptly she stopped, sighing. She shook her head. “It’s either too late or too early for this. See you in the morning.”

He watched her go back into the room she shared with Alya, Tikki following. His chest was light with something that felt a lot like hope. Had she loosened up just a bit there at the end? She was obviously still adjusting to the idea of him being Chat Noir, but she’d realise eventually that the pedestal she’d lifted him onto had been false all along. The Adrien she’d known was as much a front as the masked partner she knew. What was _she_ like beneath the mask, with her guard down? Would she let her guard down around him, uncomfortable as he seemed to make her?

He’d have to convince her to, somehow.

 

* * *

  

After his midnight rendezvous he slept solidly—which was normal—until noon, which was unheard of. When he saw the time he spent a moment panicking.

“They’ll think I’m a sloth,” he said to Plagg, horrified. He hurried into yesterday’s clothes, telling himself he’d go home, shower, then come back. When he looked in Marinette’s mirror he nearly groaned. His hair was messy, and not in the tousled good looks way stylists were always trying to achieve. It was clear he’d slept mostly on his left side.

He tried to fix it as best he could.

There was no answer from Plagg, and Adrien checked under the covers. Empty. Plagg had _left_ him? He hurried out into the apartment, hoping everyone would be out or still sleeping so he could duck out unseen and come back fresh. No such luck; Plagg, Marinette, and Tikki were having breakfast.

“Morning,” he said, falsely cheerful. “Where’s Alya?”

“Said she had something to do. Left kind of early.” Marinette was facing him, but she was talking to a spot above his eyebrows, her voice faint. Her eyes darted about, observing the top of his head, the sides of his face, his temples.

She was looking at his authentic, unstyled bedhead.

Embarrassed, he raked his hands through his hair in another furtive attempt to fix it, and she jumped. Her cheeks were pink as she looked back at her plate.

“Do you want breakfast?” she asked. “I can—”

“I’m heading home first,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry about that stuff.”

She looked up. “It’s no problem.”

He wasn’t going to sit across the table from his crush with the worst hair of the century. “I’ll come right back. I just need to shower and grab a change of clothes.”

Her mouth opened to argue, then shut. “See you soon?”

He nodded, heart beating fast. She sounded just a little lonesome. “Really soon,” he assured her.


End file.
